Iridescent
by AvalonTheLadyKiller
Summary: Shaken awake by the sound of Azkaban's walls crumbling. An ethereal young woman is offered freedom, by the only man who had ever spoken to her soul, in a language she understood. Though he remembers naught, like a whisper to his ears, every fragment of his soul knows her.
1. Chapter 1-Azkaban

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

 **Chapter One: _Azkaban_**

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out. Focus._

 _Breathe in. Strengthen your shields._

 _Breathe out. Block out the pain. Find the white place. The place where no thoughts, and no voices disturb us. Again._

Her thoughts trickled through her subconscious. Forcing their way to the forefront of her mind, much like the air rushing in and out of her lungs. It was a repetition she'd long since mastered. Her mind, a safe haven. Her only escape in this relentless place. Within these cold walls, she strengthened and manipulated her mental capacity beyond the ordinary. Not that she ever was ordinary, given her bloodline.

Utilizing what she knew of Occlumency, she'd sculpted and developed something unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Inside her mind, she built a fortress. Behind its windows, her every memory lived; never to be lost. Warding them behind locked doors, she sealed them in a way to protect their contents from eroding into the forgotten. Much as the vaults under Gringotts, she forged rooms riddled with hidden treasures and poisoned memories to punish a trespasser. She took no chances knowing whom might one day come looking.

Preserving each and every memory became her priority, upon arriving at Azkaban. Though she was physically unable to age, her ruthless captor was an extremely patient man. She knew naught the length of her stay, only felt the pouring of sand; counting down until he returned to rape her mind and end her suffering.

She established patterns only she knew; rivets in the Orphanage's brickwork, notches in the wooden floors she used to scrub, ridges in her favorite tree to read against on summer afternoons. Repeating patterns that most never realized existed, and could never be deciphered. After decades of work, she declared her work finished. She assaulted her barriers from every imaginable angle, but her shields never shook.

For the next few years, she drifted more into her mind than ever before. Reliving memories, as though they were happening right before her eyes. Capturing the senses, she could spend days reliving a specific moment in time. Decades were spent in complete silence while she perfected her Mind-Arts. Her solitude would have been enough to drive her completely insane, if not for her already questionable moral ineptitude. Her memories were her last protection against the one that put her here. And one day in the near future, her salvation would arrive.

She had foreseen it.

* * *

Years after arriving at Azkaban, she was taken ahold of by her first vision. Late at night while she had laid down to rest, her senses became enraptured by the approach of a middle-aged woman. Shuffling down the hall past her cell, dementors looming over her every step. Her eyes wild and her stance tense, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Only no other woman lived in this wing, or any other at here at Azkaban. Befuddled as to what she'd just seen, she closed her eyes and willed an explanation to surface. Slithering through long buried memories and forgotten dreams for naught. For she could never have anticipated an awakening so profound.

Days after envisioning that first glimpse of a new arrival, the cell beside hers took up a new resident. Just as she had foreseen, Bellatrix Lestrange was thrown into the cell adjoining hers. The temperature, having dropped to near freezing the moment _they_ entered the hall. Every prisoner froze mid-breath from fear. The entire wing instantly grew as quiet as death, so as not to draw the dementors' attention. After sealing her cell, they glided back down the hall out of sight.

The banshee of a woman proceeded to lash out at both the surrounding walls, as well as her fellow prisoners' ears. Nothing stood safe from her wrath. It was not long after, that she began raving in agony over her Lord's demise. Causing the young woman one cell over to bite down on her fingers, silencing her violent cries. Over the years, Bellatrix screeched of fading tattoos and hundreds of other illegible things. It was difficult to decipher every piece of her rants, for they rose and fell like raindrops in a monsoon. Seemingly without rhyme or rhythm, they would disappear into the unchanging abyss before drowning them in the night.

Weeks went by before the ghoulish woman could steady her mental activity to a calm baseline. Her thoughts, while at first thunderous soon faded into a deathly silence. After finally achieving a pure immutable placidity, the ghostly pale young woman began to experience more and more contact from the Otherside. These short premonitions, continued on; never lasting more than a few minutes at most. Her whispering appeared nonsensical to her neighbors, but Bellatrix's interest piqued. Pressing her ear to the wall at her neighbor's broken ravings, in hopes to disentangle their disheveled meaning.

The once ethereal young woman, now looked as though all color had been drained from her body. Ashen, like death incarnate. After having only briefly laid eyes on her young neighbor's appearance, Bellatrix quickly came to call her Spectre. The dark eyed brunette briefly considered that the girl was in fact one of the dead or rather undead, but was unsure why she would partake in meals if that were the case. Bellatrix's nickname became echoed by the others, as their silent neighbor never revealed her true identity. Lost in her own world of visions, the pale beauty became dislocated from the others. Memories and foresight took her to a world beyond desolate concrete and metal.

* * *

During her short stay at Hogwarts, she'd quickly became intrigued with the study surrounding the origins of Magic. Though many subjects revolved around the topic, Divination itself once stood at the heart of ancient civilization. A religion, once practiced by those of magical means; attempting to connect with the world beyond. The delicate subject stands apart from most modern teachings, as it's rooted so deeply in tenuous belief. Though a less than impressive study itself, she'd begun sorting through every word she'd read regarding The Sight.

Countless witches and wizards had attempted to force The Sight, with little success. Anything from taking opiates, to weakening their bodies to the point of magical exhaustion; brought nigh a result. From what she'd understood, the mind had to reach a higher plane; untouched by her surroundings. Only then, would she be allowed a glimpse into the fabric of time. Quickly realizing her newly discovered ability, she cultured her mind to attune itself to magic's fervent call. At times while forgoing sleep, she could maintain her meditation for days on end. Not a month later, while she fought to escape her neighbor's barbaric caterwauling, she was given a glimpse into the happenings of the world outside those cursed walls.

She quickly discovered how temperamental each vision could be. How quick a vision could turn. Each decision made, altered the consequences in some way, shape, or form. Countless possibilities began to assault her senses, even in sleep. In this place of overwhelming darkness, she dreamed of the past and the future intertwined.

* * *

 _ **SHUDDER.**_

Forced from her thoughts, she felt the floor beneath her quake. Eyelids slowly rising, her pupils remained unchanged in the darkness. Rubble fell from the ceiling around her, long after the disruption.

 _ **SHUDDER.**_ Again the room shakes. Voices. She could hear her neighbors crying out, pleading for release. _Plebeians,_ she scoffed.

 _ **SHUDDER.**_ _Its getting closer_ , she decides.

Slowly, she arose from her cot. Running her hand along the wall to the gate. Grasping these cold metal bars, between her bony hands. Designed to keep her inside, as much as her jailers out. The dementors, who rarely lingered outside her cell; much preferring to feed from the others' memories. Those who'd once lived pleasant little lives before winding up locked in a box. Such memories were far more delectable than her flavorless void.

Turning left and right, she tried to find the cause of her awakening. Though to be truthful, she hadn't been sleeping. The thought of such dream filled splendor, had abandoned her long before. Her visions had both blessed and cursed her, with their ever-frequent flashes into the world beyond. Her happier memories, drowned out by the devastating news surrounding the fall of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Within these walls, meditation was her savior. Her protector. Her salvation.

Days turned into nights here. Everlasting night. Filled with nothing but the cold, dread-filled horror that the dementors brought. She wondered sometimes, if her silence was worth it. When all she wished to do was scream. Join her voice with her neighbors' cries of anguish. But instead, she keeps her silence. Waiting for the day, she'd glimpsed over a decade before.

That vision haunted her the most. It gave her such foul, tainted hope and because of that, every day stretched on an eternity. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the moon's rays shining down on her skin. That shadowy figure stepping forward to liberate her. His dark aura pulsing through the air between them. Wind whipped his robes out around him. Her manacles falling to the ground, unbinding her magic once more.

 _ **SHUDDER.**_

She can hear the walls tearing themselves from their home. Blasting inward. _Who visits those that have been forgotten,_ she wonders amusedly. Laughs of maniacal glee resound from the cell next to hers and she finds herself eager to join. _He's here._

 _ **BOOM.**_ Everything inside of her rattles from this blast. Bellatrix begins cackling in dark amusement. Possibly the first bit of joy the blustering bat had felt, these past 14 years. _Dreams do come true_ , she sarcastically thinks. Tilting her forehead against the bars, and turning to eagerly face the destruction behind her.

She steps lightly over fallen debris to the far wall. Her dry cracked fingers run down the wide rivulet in the concrete, from between their cells. _Oh Salazar, what a pleasant day this was turning out to be._ She edges closer, hearing Bellatrix climb to her freedom, over the remnants of the crumbling wall. Something must catch her wild eyes, as they pan over the night sky. She drops to her knees, sending the gravel scattering around her form, or digging into her skeletal-like knees. The ghostly pale woman tries to imagine what could bring this fierce woman to her knees, jaw slackening, at it's glory.

 _"My Lord."_ With those words, she honors this man.

With both palms flat against the wall the blonde listens raptly, gasping in pleasure as soon as his title leaves the brunette's mouth. The sound is quickly swallowed by the salty breeze, picking up off the rising tide outside. A few stray blonde locks fly up around her face, from the wind seeping in. She can feel a few try to make their escape back through the breach. She thinks this is what catches Bellatrix's eye.

The raving madwoman turns back toward her cell in surprise, knees scraping across the dirt. Her wild eyes finally catching an undisturbed view of the young girl, who had been her silent companion ever since her hasty arrival, all those year previous. The piercing eyes that could penetrate through the thickest of walls, burned into the girl's skin. Those flint-like Black family orbs yearned to peel back the girl's pure alabaster skin, uncovering her every secret and desire.

It was at that exact moment that the aging witch asked not _who are you_ , but _"What are you?"_

Causing the most luminescent of smiles to emit from the pale young woman's cell. Her deftly feminine fingertips began to run along the cleavage, of what used to be, a reinforced slab. She hummed quietly to herself, as she let her unerringly powerful senses creep outside the confines of the magically famed prison.

She could feel it. Or rather it's what she _couldn't_ feel. The magic that once kept these walls strong against weathering and attack throughout the ages, was torn asunder in just a few seconds time. Sickeningly weak against the thunderous force of his magic. Fallen to ashes, under this man's sheer power and will. _I will soon be free_ , she thought. _Free to run. Free to hunt. Free to kill,_ she hissed at last. For trivial things like the lack of a wand, mattered naught to her. For she knew magic in its purest form. Her very heart pulsed with the raging thrum of her power. No, she would not be confined to the mercy of a meager piece of wood when she'd been forced to endure these walls for coming upon 50 years, while her body remained ageless. Her everlasting youth stood as tangible proof of her abilities.

His piercingly carmine eyes glowed brightly back at her. Fiercely determined to uncover who dared interrupt his most loyal follower's feverish praise. Her mind raged, as the Dark Lord stared questionably back at her long-awaited reappearance without recognition. No longer did she cage her temper in the calm pulsing eye of the storm. In that moment, her fury sustained her. She could taste vengeance on her tongue.

And with her cage weakened, she could feel his aura; just as he could hers. Dark magic flowed through his veins stronger than ever before, as her ever elusive vision had alluded. His magic pulsed with life, death, and untempered power. _Such dark beauty. Such strength,_ she purrs inside the confines of her demented mind. She feels his magic reach out to touch hers, and like feeling sunlight bathe your skin in warmth, she shivered.

Shuddering in euphoria, she thought: _It's been so long since I've felt such a pure seduction to the Dark._

Only one such a man could carry such a weight on his soul. Containing it tightly in a vice-like grip, rivalling even the deadliest of snakes. She can hear him inhale sharply, as her magic stroked his with the lightest of touch; like feathers on the bare skin. Testing hers. Tasting the Dark Magic surging up to the surface in silent greeting. Though her heart had leapt into her throat, she could not help but to breathe out her haughty impatience.

 _"Brother, mine. You've kept me waiting."_


	2. Chapter 2-Mindscape

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark.

 **Chapter Two: _Mindscape_**

She didn't know what thoughts were warring inside him, but his brow inched north at her high-handed tone. From the pulsing of his magic alone, she knew it was him. His temper urged him to kill the audacious witch for her tone, and yet his utter confusion at her use of endearment won out. A long moment of silence rang out, from the either side of the wall. Neither the crashing of the Atlantic's bone-chilling waves, nor the moaning cries from within the prison were heard by the trio. Until finally their silence was broken by the raging voice of the woman, who'd long been her morning songbird over the years. Waking her from thought and slumber.

 _"Such madness you speak, my pretty!"_

" _Bella!"_ A masculine voice sliced through the air between them. Silencing her outburst, before she could work herself into a state. His voice caressing every word, in a sibilant nature. Though, remaining weighted in manner. She knew she had acquired his attention.

" _You are mistaken, child. I have no family."_

 _So, it was true,_ she hissed in fury at the one who had touched things, he shouldn't have. Though, she had always known in her heart, that if his mind remained intact, he would have come for her. Just as she would him. _Memories were such a precious thing. Housed deep in your mind, when all else had abandoned you._ Jaw clenching in anguish, she had to force herself to push through the pain she was feeling biting away at my insides.

She knew her next words, would be weighed and measured. Determining her worth to his cause. Always planning ahead. _Some things never change._

She pressed her temple against the cool crumbling cement wall.

 _"And if I told you, that I knew who had stolen from you, precious things! Would you allow me the honor, of telling you?"_ She inquired.

Knowing he'd heard her soft voice, though it was not much louder than a whisper. Overtop the breaking waves from the approaching storm, he heard her as clearly as if she had spoken from right beside him. Her tongue caressed her syllables with such passion. Sibilant sounds honoring his ancestors beautifully. His Nagini would approve of her flawless pronunciation.

Cocking his head in perilous interest, his breathing immediately ceased. His eyes dissected every inch of her face that he could see. Within the depths of her pitch black cell, her long white blonde hair cascaded down; glowing in contrast to her dark surroundings. Shielding her eyes from view, while giving her a natural barrier from prying eyes. From the sharp angles of her prominent cheekbones to the soft curve of her lips, she made quite a striking image. _A ghost come to lif_ e, he thought.

Footsteps approached from over the ridge, sending rocks careening in their haste to be by their Lord's side. Falling to their knees in supplication, they chanted his title exultingly.

 _So the others had finally scampered out of their cells, like little rats. Begging for scraps, the fumbling imbeciles_ , The Dark Lord wryly thought. Sneering at their pathetic display. He despised helping those who'd been too mentally deficient to help themselves. There were only but a handful of Death Eaters who deserved his attentions, and the others' complete incompetence couldn't be helped. He'd ensure they were properly punished for their loose lipped arrests. Of that, he had no doubt. Bellatrix silenced their cries, with a loud bark.

 _"QUIET."_ Slashing her arm through the air to silence their interruption.

The others knew instinctively to obey her command. For the very moment Bellatrix Lestrange arose from Azkaban's walls, she'd taken back her position as his most favored. Their Lord greatly admired her ability to read his moods, so effortlessly. His War General who held rank above the men, as if a thousand years of gender inequality didn't exist.

He waited with baited breath, almost hoping one of them opened their mouth once more. His magic sizzled to life, causing the tips of his fingers to tingle in anticipation. All but seconds away from ripping their tongues forcibly from their bodies, had they not ceased their constant mewling. Truly, the only sounds he wished to hear was their cries of supplication and pain under his hand. It had been so long since he'd _really_ tested the limits of a perfectly-cast Cruciatus.

His eyes never faltered from their intense study of the waif, standing just a few meters in front of him. Scrutinizing her every breath as if to piece together just how she came to think herself so familiar to him. _And who would want to?_ His mind remained flummoxed as to the true state of her prison-addled mind. He, who had killed the last of his family off before graduating from Hogwarts. Those disgraceful fools who had let his family name disintegrate beneath them, and left him to rot in that Muggle version of Azkaban, named Wool's.

Bellatrix, herself couldn't help but to wonder at what the girl had said to the Dark Lord. For he seemed to be riveted to her every breath. _Pretty little_ _Spectre, what ever could you have to hide?_ She queried, glaring back over at the cowering men who'd just raised their Master's ire. Eager to see if any had inched closer, giving her just cause to strike. But alas, she was forced to return her hawk-like gaze unto the only other female, to have captured her Lord's attentions so.

Over the years, Bellatrix had wheedled as much as she could from the other prisoners. Some spoke of her never changing beauty. Debating amongst themselves, whether or not she was truly a ghost, for nary a word did she speak. Others told a tale, told to them by their predecessors. A girl carried unconscious to her cage by a bearded man, half a century before.

She wasn't sure what to make of most of their tales; each more inconceivable than the last. But even she had to admit, the existence of such a phenomenon wasn't as impossible as others would believe. For she had stood at her Lord's side through the years, as he wore alternating faces to defy death's many attempts. But on subject of everlasting youth, she would admit that such a thing would be highly problematic, if not devastatingly ambitious for such a young woman. She couldn't fathom the sheer will one would need, in order to succeed.

From inside her cell, the blond wraith had turned slightly to face the newcomers; the dwindling remnants of the great Death Eater regime. Those loyal followers whom had been captured after his fall. Finally released to once more, serve him ever so faithfully.

Just as she heard their commotion die down, she suddenly caught the sound of careful footsteps approaching her cell.

 _"Of what precious things, do you speak little one?"_

His voice twisted deftly around each syllable. Parseltongue whispering through the air around them. He spoke to her tentatively. Utterly taken aback by her unorthodox use of his ancestral tongue; used so casually between two strangers. For to him, she was but a child. Tortured and left abandoned in the crevices of Azkaban. Forgotten by any whom might remember who this young woman once was. _Still,_ Voldemort thought, _she seeks the comfort from a lost sibling. One whom may never return._ And for the rarest of moments, he feels pity. Almost apologetic for the confusion clouding her mind. Though he could not deny a sinister twist of curiosity addling his mind. Encouraging him to discover what other secrets dwelled in the deepest recesses of the most famed Magical Prison on the continent.

She smiled assuredly. Raising two fingers to tap against her temple.

 _"What is mine, is yours My Lord,"_ she proposed. Giving no hesitancy whatsoever, toward the idea of him entering her mind. Lowering her shields, just as a door materialized in her fortress; swinging forth in anticipation of his long awaited return. He approached with hesitant steps, wary of any hidden protection spells underfoot.

If he was shocked by her forwardness, he said nothing. All the while, she could do little more than twist her fingers idly down the cracked veins running through the concrete; watching his slow approach with an avaricious desperation. Towering only a meter away, as she continued to stare serenely at his form. His palm rested flat onto the stonework, bracing himself to breach her mind's depths.

She could feel his slithering mind edge toward hers, just as easy as she could feel his dark magical aura, pulsing with vitality. Even sustaining the damage it did during the horcrux process & his sudden death, hadn't diminished any of his raw power. Merely forced him into a new shell.

One had to truly be able to understand, the essence of what magic really was, to see what she could. Her senses themselves, were quite keen. Possessing the ability to perceive magical influence in the air around her. But then again, ever since she was a young child, she'd always been able to see past what others see.

* * *

As long as she'd remembered, she'd been different. Tom once described her mind to her, as being built like a clock set to run counterclockwise. She still got to the same place the others did, only through alternate means. Many times, instinctively finding a more efficient manner altogether.

In school, few could wrap their head around some of the leaps her mind made and as such, she had long felt a disconnect from her peers. Paired with her heightened IQ, it was a recipe for solitude. As such, she could often be found wandering alone through the halls; speaking with portraits over some of her most recent discoveries. Something far too intricate to explain to the simpletons, who clustered in the halls; spreading the tastiest gossip they'd heard that week.

She engineered different methods to utilize her magical sensitivity. Listening to its ebb and flow rather than to the strict teachings the books would have them adhere to. Vera found herself developing qualities similar to that of her brother. His skill and intellect quickly marked him as being somewhat of a child prodigy to others. Nothing she herself had not previously admired, or recognized as a youngling. The children back at Wool's were riotously jealous of his high marks, which only fueled their bitterness after Tom had treated them with such palpable disdain. She however, remained somewhat of an unknown element in their eyes. Tom never allowed for much idle chatter to pass between the others and his sister. He watched over her guardedly; ever suspicious they might take their resentment out on her, unwarranted.

As they grew of age, their magic became an addictive force. It mattered naught whether they were away at what the other children thought was 'some dodgy boarding school,' or alone in the confines of the Muggle World, they practiced endlessly. Wand in hand or wandless, they'd practice long into the night. Their classmates at Hogwarts never understood the desperation, living in a world not their own brought. Forced to hide everything about themselves, or be taken to the nut house hung over their heads at all times. Their greedy natures, paired with the two's shared eidetic memory, led to them spending nearly every free moment inside the library's walls. Earning them additional respect from their elders, had their well-spoken manner not already acquired them the respect they'd deserved.

Time never seemed to stand still during those months away from the orphanage. It rushed through their fingers, like sand in a hourglass. But no matter how desperately they clung to it, the winter months passed and the days lengthened, as summer grew ever more on the horizon. It was the time when nature presented them its most punishing contradiction. The brightest time of the year, when life thrived and rejoiced over making it through yet another frigid winter, instead persecuted them with its arrival.

The sweltering sunlight had the tendency to reveal faults in the orphanage's staunchly under-compensated budget. The whitewashed walls, which had been white at some point, mirrored the depressingly grey streets of London at the time. The paint peeled, and the woodworkings showed signs of mold and deterioration around the edges. As though the place was ready to fall apart at any moment, but waylaid such an event out of some stalwart desire to cause the young Slytherin heirs complete and utter misery.

As such, they heartily refused to squander their allotted time by falling victim to childish games and trifles, as others their age had. Professors quickly learned to make certain allowances, for their remarkable aptitude in spell-crafting. Very rarely did anyone question her differing wand motions, or diverging from a potion's recipe. Professor Slughorn praised her talents as something beyond the normal potioneer, at once. He had the propensity to announce her success to the class, as her brother grumbled under his breath. Fighting to achieve utter perfection, without deviating from the recipe's strict stipulations. Causing her to fight a war of her own, not to break into giggles at the way his eyes would check and recheck the book fifty times over, so as not to miss a single step. Working hard to earn his grade in the class, much as she did Arithmancy. His dedication endeared her, as she knew how hard he studied to understand the why's behind the chemical bonding and separation involved in potion-making. He simply wasn't adept to the subject, like he was at spellcraft. He was built to fight. To create and destroy, that was something she couldn't deny. His need for control fed it. His dominance, demanded it.

Long before their years at Hogwarts, they'd practiced controlling their powers. Those who spoke out against them or lingered too closely, were quickly dealt with. The other children couldn't explain the things that would happen. None of the attendants could explain it, though Mrs. Cole, the Headmistress, was determined to find blame in the twins. Without fail, if one had been wronged earlier that day, the other was never far off when an 'event' occurred. They protected one another, long after the magical world had left them to rot in that filthy orphanage. Because of this, the twins' bond grew into something unheard of before. As if they were one entity, split into two bodies. If one felt pain, they both did. If one was ill, the other couldn't be kept away. They always found a way back to each other.

Both maintained a united front, as they began developing traits which marked them as 'of a different sort' to the staff and other children. Their hatred grew after having survived multiple attempts by the Headmistress to quell their 'freakish ways.'

As the years went on, Tom himself became quite the golden boy at Hogwarts. As his sister, she overheard many a conversation in the girls' bathroom; each jockeying for a chance to speak with him. Nearly every witch sought to capture his attention, much to his initial annoyance. Though, quickly he realized the gift in such a thing. He could have had any witch in half of Europe, with his charms and strikingly good looks, but he paid them no mind. Though his ability to sway nearly every witch or wizard around became quite an asset to his cause, as he quickly built a following amongst them. An exclusive crop of their peers. These few Slytherins, would soon after become his first collection of followers. Death Eaters before their time, one might say.

Throughout their time at Hogwarts, they proceeded to grasp classes and spellwork beyond others of their age. Slytherin House as a whole, acknowledged them as Purebloods, whose family had perished; for they would have been unable to be sorted there otherwise. Nary a word was spoken as to their strange last name. One or two from other Houses questioned their status, but were quickly put in their place. For neither twin would suffer such blatant disrespect, surrounding their lineage.

Well into their teenage years, as he grew into the figurehead of Slytherin House, she began to turn many an eye. Her use of magic blossomed into an art form, in it's own right. Leaving many of her teachers speechless at her innovations & sound insight. Though male eyes followed her for a much different reason. Tom & his followers formed a circle around her, shielding her from those fumbling idiots who dared to try and speak with her. Her brother was immeasurably cruel to her admirers.

He grew to be so paranoid, he forged her a pearlescent pendant made from the finest of moonstone; charmed to alert him of her distress. It was because of this necklace, that he knew to come to her on the night she was taken from Hogwarts. Sensing her pain and fear, he rushed to her aide. Never questioning for a second, who might have been behind her torment.

* * *

But there on Azkaban's guarded shores, the Atlantic ocean roared through their ears, as everything else faded away. Memories fell into the abyss as they gazed at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. His silhouette shined in the moonlight overhead, while she disappeared into the overwhelming darkness of her cell. His mind grasped hold of her proffered invitation, sliding through the threshold of her mind effortlessly. Quickly taken aback by the cathedral-worthy architecture inside. He couldn't help but to applaud her skill in the craft. Few could manipulate the scenery inside one's mind, even fewer were able to create such a detailed stronghold; able to preserve one's thoughts. Something like this, he'd expect from the likes of Dumbledore, or himself.

Light shined down on his snake-like visage, causing him to gaze skyward at the sunlit glass in the domed ceiling overhead. She guided him to a set of doors, beyond the entrance hall and down two flights of stairs. Her white-blonde hair stood nearly incandescent in the sun's rays, cascading about her face and giving her a halo of protection against his piercing stare.

It was with great triumph that her abilities finally became acknowledged by the Dark Lord. His hardened mask slipped ever so slightly at the sheer marvel of the place around him. Stained glass covered the cylindrical wall of the stairwell. Thousands of pieces placed with such precision, to make up the grand image of a sea of snakes. Intertwining with one another, following their downward spiral.

Trailing his fingers just inches away from the glass tiles, he sensed multiple overlaid codes warding memories from sight. Warming his skin in it's potent energy. Foreign languages were used throughout the piece, serving as an added layer of protection against prying eyes.

The hallway just beyond, led them to a series of doors. Each panel along the walls and floors, whether brick, tile, or stone had been expertly placed to hide her secrets. He gazed back at her modest appearance, more than a little taken aback by her magical ability. Even he had never seen Occlumency taken to such heights. One would have to be a master of the Mind Arts to create half of the mental palisades she exhibited without care.

Halting in front of a vast set of double doors, she passed her hands in a series of gestures mid-air. Unlocking more wards, much the same as he'd encountered inside Gringotts's depths. Locks clicked into place and the doors smoothly swung open, allowing them entrance. All at once giving him a view into where she had spent most of her time, over the years. Her grand library stretched as far deep as the eye could see. Dwarfing the Great Hall in Hogwarts by nearly twofold. The circular room stood nearly as breathtaking as the Muggle's Coliseum. The undeniable opulence, appealing greatly to the eye. Similar to the royal ballrooms of old. Streaming light in through the domed ceiling, drew attention immediately to the strange flooring.

Covered in one unending sheet of mirrored glass, the floor made one feel as though they would fall right through. Her inside joke on her brother, as she used to tell him much in the same whenever he'd disappear for hours on end, while in the school's library. She jested to the mild possibility that such an event might take him from her, to which he'd quickly responded that such an occurrence could never happen, for he could never be kept away from her. She was his Sun, his light. For without her, he knew no warmth. No life could survive the blistering cold his wrath would bring, without her by his side. He spoke determinedly, as though he was making an unbreakable vow to himself that day.

Where as Tom enjoyed sitting by the fires in the back nooks of the school's illustrious library, She had much preferred to learn from the greats that roamed the halls. Those figures captured eternally in the canvas walls of the school, offered much insight into the ancient ways. The originating rituals and magical scripture that had been long forgotten in the school's descent from Pureblooded teachings, were often more potent than anything they practice in their day and age. Her strange inclinations proved fruitful, when time after time she was able to explain why certain magical components reacted to stimuli accordingly. She was able to follow a spell's derivative ancestry to bind it to another, or to determine if it held a volatile base; which would affect the method by which she would proceed.

The ever more lucrative lesson was learning how to temper its strength for her purposes. Tracing the spell back to its source could change a simple _Tergeo,_ cleaning charm into the rune for _Destroy._ The derivative in many cases was powerful enough to kill indiscriminately, as well as over a broad spectrum. Such was the reasoning behind the development of the wand, in fact. Created to funnel one's magic safely, while runes were created to decimate through magical means. It was a culmination of magical strength, manifesting itself through violence. A means which saved and ended countless lives, as neighboring villages warred endlessly.

She had first adopted The Old Ways as her way to honor their ancestors, but she soon realized the potential in harnessing such a thing. The Old Ways were founded in a time when Magic was so raw, so ferocious that Merlin and Morgana themselves, had been some of the last to tame it within their grasp. Not this weak mockery the school taught nowadays, watered down by generations of Mudbloods, as Hephaestus Montague liked to grouse about whenever she could lend the elderly wizard her ear. He wasn't much of a talker, and it was only by means of her revealing her connection to the school's founding father, did he utter a word in her direction. He remained stoutly prejudiced even in death, though she could admit he had his purpose.

As a one of Hogwart's first renown spellcrafters, he could concisely describe the methodology behind one of her most burgeoning interests. For he had found the connecting points by which to connect wizard or witch to wand, with his partner Ophelia Ollivander back in 1008A.D. Much as Garrick Ollivander led them to the discovery of their own wands, Ophelia led Hephaestus to the significance each ingredient had to its owner. Magical harmony existed, in such a manner that one's core had to find balance when combined with the wand's core. A mirroring image, must exist for magic to travel conducively. Meaning if one were to bind their wand's ingredients to a spell or ritual, the circuits would bind into each other tenfold. Something no witch or wizard her age could ever hope to master, none the less, grasp. Theoretically, this was something she could profit immensely from, if she had any desire to become magically legendary. Alas, she had far greater plans than simply becoming a famed spellcrafter.

Much greater plans indeed.

* * *

Shaking her head to rid her thoughts, she proceeded to walk toward her destination.

Stacks lined the walls surrounding the room. In the center sat a collection of fine leather upholstered furnishings, surrounded by two semi-circled low standing walls. Both of which stood bereft in the daylight hours. Granules of glass shards stretched out overtop the barrier. The flames would erupt from the glass-lined tier, every sunset; such was her will. She lit Botswana Agate for it's calming properties. Burned in a circle to maximize magical currents in the air.

Just off to the side of the circle, a dark wood desk domineered beautifully.

He stepped toward the heart of the vast room. Feet carrying him to the furniture, running his finger down their dragon-hide leather backed chairs, before whipping around to face her. Wand aimed at her, while he circled predatorily.

 _"What is the meaning of this?"_ Waving his arm toward the dark leather covered chairs, in frustration. For he had seen those very pieces, sitting proudly in Slytherin Manor just hours before.

In fact, the desk looked startlingly familiar as well. Even their placement correlated with the pieces in his home. His ancestral home, that he had spent the last few months reviving from it's decade of slumber, in his wake. Having only just discovered of it's existence, when the prophecy had been foretold. Forcing his attentions away from his war efforts, to track down the Potter boy.

He was quite confident no living being had stepped foot in Slytherin Manor, in over 800 years. Upon his entrance every evening, the wards sent out magical readings. He could feel his ancestor's magic holding strong, nearly one thousand years later. In all those years, only three magical signatures had ever crossed the manor's wards. The first carried Salazar's distinct air about it. The second his son, Vidar. The third, his very own.

It was a tragedy all its own. Upon his arrival just months before, the Manor stood to be more aptly described as a tomb, than the palace he knew it to be. In one thousand years, only three pairs of eyes had ever marveled it's rich splendor. In age, the home stood nearly as ancient as Hogwart's itself, and only three men had ever walked it's elegant halls.

The house itself, lived off the dark enchantments, placed upon it by his ancestor in his final days. It's isolation however, originated not from a break in the direct descendant line. But rather, followed Vidar's descent into madness. Long before he had killed Helena Ravenclaw, he'd begun to devolve mentally; growing more unstable as the months wore on.

The house's wards locked down immediately upon her death, sensing no worthy candidate in existence. The Manor's final failsafe to preserve the integrity Salazar had imbued into it's very foundation. Disappearing from sight and memories altogether, as was Salazar's will. Broken, and with no memory of love or home, Vidar ended his life. Cursed even in death, as his spirit took the form of The Bloody Baron. With no memory of his past self at all.

Centuries past, as the home stood lost through the ages. Until one day, the wards rattled. Shaken awake by a man so dark, the world quivered in fear. As heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, he was tested. The dark magic surrounding the manor found him worthy, at once. The ancient wards wove around his magic, sending out a beacon; invisible to all except it's recipient. He, who had only ever found safety in Hogwarts' enveloping walls; found his home, at long last.

But in this home, Voldemort could feel echoes of Vidar's madness reverberating off the stone walls. He harbored disgust for his ancestor's weakness. Paltry feelings like love and longing, he had cast out of himself years before; with those six pieces of his soul. Salazar's presence however, roused his fighting spirit. It was with Salazar's encouragement, that he stormed the Wizarding Prison with naught but his wand and his mind. His first advance on the battlefield, and toward taking back what was rightfully his.

And so here he loomed, wand pressed into her sternum, as she raised her arm.

Grasping his wand tighter in anticipation, he held a curse at the tip of his tongue. Ready to show her how unamused he was by her efforts, assuming she'd meant to retaliate against his threat of violence. But instead of lashing out at him, she simply shifted her hair. Uncovering her eyes. Finally allowing him to view the pale coloring that covered her pupils and irises completely.

His realization of her blindness caused him to stagger back, sucking in a breath in shock. He was so disturbed by her appearance, his eyes flared wide. Blindness was a nearly unheard of condition for a witch or wizard. St. Mungo's had the means, by which to cure such an hindrance.

" _My impairment allows me to utilize forms of magic hidden from plain sight."_ She speaks formally, as if he had not just spurned her appearance so rudely. He, whose face looked more monster than man.

" _I've long ago established a connection to the Otherside. Allowing me to see glimpses into the future."_ She pauses, allowing him a moment to take in what she was telling him. _"Mine. Yours. Even strangers."_ She continued. _"That's how I've been able to see inside your fortress, Lord Voldemort."_

He reared back at what she had just told him. He had not heard of a Seer's existence since reading an entry back when he worked in Borgin and Burkes, all those years ago. An old dame had brought in a couple of her dead husband's books, and he remembered one concerning the darker side to Divination. Stories of old, telling of Morgana herself to be the most powerful Dark Seer ever in existence. Though much was left unknown concerning the pair's abilities. Lost to time.

If this child, barely a woman, before him bore even a hint of such a great gift, she would soon find herself under his ever watchful eye. For he would not suffer the Light getting their hands on her, and gaining an edge in the war. Undeniable proof, in the form of a vision; not just a pithy furniture display.

 _"And, these visions, do they happen at whim? Or have you not managed to reverse the influx?"_ He was finally speaking with some of his usual bite. Having grown irritable with her continual ability to throw him off balance. He, who was always in such tight control. Shaken by a confused girl, who can't have long been out of Hogwarts gates. Whether she was vastly gifted in the field of Occlumency or foresight, he would not stand anyone's resistance. If she sought freedom from her confines, she would bow to his will.

She blinked blankly, at his tone. Untouched by the dark thoughts brewing in his mind.

" _Both. They are both subjective and sent when I am meant to receive them."_ Turning away from him, she grasped her hands behind her back, leisurely. As if they were simply discussing the weather. _"I have grown quite fond of your great library, through my visions. The air there almost vibrates with an eery calm. It's uncanny I must say. I have sought to replicate the feeling, though the result is somewhat milder than the original. Mental Magics only extend so far."_

Her apt description of the library's aura, told him just how detailed her visions were. For Salazar had spent years perfecting the room's mental influence. Voldemort found himself growing quite intrigued by the possibilities such a seer could have for their side. Schemes ran through his mind once more, with a renewed rush. _"If you wish to be released…"_

" _My visions also told me you might one day seek me out, and here you are."_ She interrupted. _"Forgive my intrusion."_ She quickly apologized. _"I fear we have only a few minutes more time, before my captor makes an appearance. He's extremely cumbersome, and I'd rather like to be at full strength when I torture him into insanity."_

Causing a sudden burst of air to try and escape his lungs. He had but a second's time to silence the outburst; which he quickly identified as some sort of chuckle. Laughter, he surmised. Caused by such a delicate creature speaking to him of mental torture, so flippantly. Gathering himself, he calmly stalked across the room behind her.

When she turned to make her way toward the far wall, she stopped short. Flicking her hand out in the manner one would mount a broomstick, she flipped her palm facing up and the mirrored floor, cracked beneath her ministrations. As the floor rose up, some three meters or so, she flicked her hand out to grab a heavy tome, from a rising shelf; ceasing it's escalation.

It's crimson leather binding crackling from disuse, as she set it upon the desk scanning through it's contents. Flicking the pages aside, pausing on the page 297. Quietly mumbling a quick incantation, she nodded her head assuredly as the page began to pulse. Reading the inscription magically, she knew she had found just the memory, she was looking for.

" _Do you still wish to see the forgotten My Lord? These memories that were taken from you will not come easy."_ She peered blankly at his visage. Untouched by his threatening features.

" _I do, yes. But be forewarned; if you waste my time, you will not live to see another vision."_ He spoke firmly. Uninterested in her idle chatter.

" _Threats now?"_ She stated dispassionately. Quite unimpressed with his tone on the matter.

" _Only a promise."_ He quipped.

" _You should know that the mind, once bereft has a tendency to do strange things indeed. You may never remember fully, what you have lost."_

" _Then so be it."_ He resolutely stated.

She nodded agreeably, and turned back to the book; engaging it's contents once more. A mere moment more and light took hold of them both; bursting forth from the pages before them. Then as if diving into a pensive, her memory flew forth. Swallowing them both inside it's grasp, without so much as a second's hesitance.

* * *

 **Hi everyone! Just wanted to give a shout out to my girl, who has graciously read over the chapter multiple times. Helping to keep me off the ledge, when I was staring down the barrel of a 29 page chapter. Her story 'Magnetism' is an up & coming addiction of mine, & as such I've agreed to help beta. My other beta'd/cowritten story is 'The Monster Within' with WarriorHime53. Both you ladies hang the moon for me, & keep my mind busy plotting character toils. I hope everyone else will give their work a look, as I think you'll be quite pleasantly surprised.**

 **Last but not least, I would appreciate you all's feedback on the story's progress. After undergoing a bit of a renovation, I'm proud to say that the next few chapters will really give you insight into their past life. They also should not take near as long to finish off, & upload because I'm building off of previous material. As always, reviews & favorites really give us writers an idea how the story's being viewed. It's this sort of feedback that really drives us to improve, & I'm dying to know what you think of the characters' interactions. I hope you could spare a second now, & drop me a few words. Even a simple *thumbs up* helps! My love to you all over the holidays, & happy Yule everyone!**


	3. Chapter 3- Who Are You?

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

 _No Copyright Infringement Intended_

 _All rights belong to JK Rowling_

 _As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

 _ **Previously On Chapter 2**_ _:_

When she turned to make her way toward the far wall, she stopped short. Flicking her hand out in the manner one might mount a broomstick, she flipped her palm facing up and the mirrored floor, cracked beneath her ministrations. As the floor rose up, some three meters or so, she flicked her hand out to grab a heavy tome, from a rising shelf; ceasing it's escalation.

It's crimson leather binding crackling from disuse, as she set it upon the desk scanning through it's contents. Flicking the pages aside, pausing on the page 297. Quietly mumbling a quick incantation, she nodded her head assuredly as the page began to pulse. Reading the inscription magically, she knew she had found just the memory, she was looking for.

" _Do you still wish to see the forgotten, My Lord?"_ She peered blankly at his visage. Untouched by his threatening features. _"These memories that were taken from you will not come easy."_

He spoke firmly. Uninterested in her idle chatter. " _I do, yes. But be forewarned girl; if you waste my time, you will not live to see another vision."_

" _Threats now?"_ She stated dispassionately. Quite unimpressed with his tone on the matter.

" _Only a promise."_ He quipped.

" _You should know that the mind, once bereft has a tendency to do strange things indeed. You may never remember fully, what you have lost."_

" _Then so be it."_ He resolutely stated.

She nodded agreeably, and turned back to the book; engaging it's contents once more. A mere moment more and light took hold of them both; bursting forth from the pages before them. Then as if diving into a pensive, her memory flew forth. Swallowing them both inside it's grasp, without so much as a second's hesitance.]

* * *

 **Chapter Three: _Who Are You?_**

The activated pensieve radiated a near blinding light. Effectively eclipsing the room from their eyes, as their bodies jolted forward from the memory's pull. Jostling them as though they were mere puppets, pulled forth by invisible strings. The soles of their shoes lifted off from the mirrored glass, landing instead on a heavily worn stone floor. As the light began to fade away, they found themselves in an entirely new place altogether.

Voldemort's piercing grey eyes swept briskly over every detail before him. His snake like features made to appear all the more menacing, by the scowl he wore upon his brow. His lips curled up into a sneer worthy of a Malfoy, but his eyes glinted dangerously in a manner all their own. He had to wonder what he was even doing here; deep within the mind of someone who called him 'brother.' This ghost of a woman whom he could put neither a name, nor a face to.

If this was a ploy to gain his attention for some undisclosed reason, that prison cell which held her captive would soon seem exceedingly gracious by all accounts. However, his curiosity burned a fissure deep inside this broken remnant of his soul. An emotion that was not entirely unfamiliar to him. He had after all, felt it many a time before. Pursuits of power had always required a great deal of laborious inquisition. At least, any which bore notable results.

Still, his mind stood far from idle at her actions. Her existence perplexed him. Why would this wraith of a woman allow him entrance into her mind? Did she think to try and manipulate him? He, The Dark Lord, whom even his most loyal of Death Eaters cowered at the thought of his mental intrusions. Admittedly, the state of her sanity would remain in question for the moment.

Despite acknowledging the annoyance that was etched upon his face, she remained completely immobile. Standing as still as a tree in the calm dead of night. Distancing herself from the horrors that lay buried deep, in the dark recesses of her mind. A technique that had served her well, all these years. This memory in particular, she had no desire to relive. After all, living it the first time was quite punishment enough.

The loss of her other half felt like some premeditated form of justice, decided upon long ago to ensure sufferance for her sins. Perhaps fate knew there was only but one thing she would truly mourn the loss of. A brother, cut from the same cloth. Sheltered together for nine months, in the womb of their now dead mother. Magical twins, bound irrevocably to the other, body and soul.

Her freedom, stood but a mere trifle in the face of losing him. Whether he wore the face of an aristocrat or a monster, he was hers and she was his.

* * *

Over the years, her visions had offered her great insight into the wizard he was today. She was full of such pride over his accomplishments. Standing before her now was a Dark Lord, whose power stretched beyond the foreign reaches of the globe. Thrice over, he had outlasted death. Whether by means of horcrux or otherwise, he had defied the laws of nature. His magic practically rained torrential waves of power. Of complete and utter dominance.

Nevertheless, she could not find the strength within herself to banish the images flurrying behind her eyes. Flashes of memories, lost in time. Two children, separated from the Magical World by unfortunate circumstance. Forced to rely on the only family they had left in this world. Two halves of a whole, stricken by cruelty at every turn. She could remember the feel of his body's warmth, clutching onto her through the harsh winter nights. Giving her his body heat when the threadbare quilts barely guarded against the slightest chill.

His instincts had always kept them safe. From the walls of their crib through the domineering gates of Hogwarts itself. He protected her as if she were the only other being in the world. And to her, he was all that existed. They were like predators in the wild; together they thrived.

Their souls latched onto the other's so possessively, it was difficult to feel where one ended and the other began. Wiping her from his memories, was no clean cut by any means. Her ties ran so deep inside him, she wondered how much further damage was done in the process. For she could certainly sense mental instability inside him. Something inside the eyes, revealing more than he could ever know. Even through her blindness she could _see,_ if not in the traditional sense of the word.

And if there was but one word to describe her pain, 'void' would be it. For with his loss, she felt bereft. She had suffered such great pain and loss. Far beyond what any other being had a right to. It wasn't fair for him to be spared the pain she felt cutting her insides so deeply. Spared the overwhelming truth that he was so maliciously denied. He was the only man that would ever hold a place in her heart. Her soul suffered immense agony at his loss.

Yet to him, she was nothing more than a disheveled stranger.

As much as it pained her, she knew she had to do this. Offering up her still bleeding wounds for his perusal. Stripping herself bare to be at his mercy. The manner of which, had never felt so daunting before. She only hoped that when it was all finished, she would finally know peace. For without his influence, she felt herself at war with herself. Cast out naked into the cruel world. Forgotten by all that loved her.

As the memory's originator, it was well within her power to withhold and to guide the vision. But instead, she felt compelled to give into her desperation. To let him feel the searing pain that intertwined with her every pleasurable memory. Her ability to love was scarred evermore by the loss of him, unforgiving in its honesty. So, she held nothing back.

 _Let him see it all,_ she thought with torment curling around her heart like briars. _Let him try and find my lies_. For there were none to discover, no ploy that she heartbreakingly realized he was trying to uncover.

Her teeth gnashed together as she braced herself for the onslaught, in these moments he took the time to study her features, watchful for any chinks belying her calm nature. Mannerisms that would help him to establish a baseline; to be able to sieve truth from lie. Everyone had weaknesses, thoughts, and habits that they sought to hide. It was an unavoidable trait of the human condition. He cocked his head slightly as she gave no quarter to the rising discord inside her.

Her serene manner pleased him for some unknown reason. Perhaps it reminded him so much of the etiquette and respect the oldest of pure-blood families carried themselves. A trait he had always admired. Her control, impeccable; an attribute of which he associated closely with power. And power was something he coveted most fervently. He discovered himself grudgingly respectful of her discipline. And for the first time in years, he found himself growing content to be in the presence of another.

* * *

The hallway's stone walls were only mildly lit by the surrounding wall sconces. Each flickered threateningly. Very much alive, as drafts broke through the cracks in the old worn stone. The faint chill that she remembered to have washed over her skin, merely ghosted through their spectral forms. Unfettered by any known law of nature.

Innately, he could feel malevolent magic twisting through the air. A turbulence of some sort; causing his tastebuds to sizzle to life on his tongue. And as intimate as he was with the Dark Arts, he could be certain there were Dark forces at work this night. Faint traces lingered on the breeze. It hung in the air tenaciously, like a thick fog in the heart of the mountains.

He felt puzzled. _Why had no other teacher felt the disturbance? Perhaps,_ he thought, _only the most perceptive of magic users could detect such a thing._ For he could no more turn a cheek to such a call, than a wolf could quell the thrill of the hunt.

Turning his nose to the wind, he could distinctly smell a foul stench in the air. His augmented senses worked needlessly to uncover its source. He could practically taste the deceit in the hall; slithering through his nose and into his lungs. His heightened olfactory senses were but one of the many side effects to this horcrux's construct. He could even detect the sweet tang of spilt blood on the air; tantalizing and beckoning him forward.

But above all else, he was hypnotized by another fragrance entirely. Hiding just beneath those bitter notes, stood a very desirable aroma. Her fear caused his predatory senses to run wild. He flicked his tongue out along his teeth, fully aware how desperate his body was to taste her sweet porcelain skin. Another reminder that while the face he now bore alluded to but one of the physical transformations he'd underwent, he could admit; he did not feel entirely human anymore.

Accompanying this new facade, he'd found himself experiencing the most profound responses to stimuli. He'd quickly realized his instincts had become quite predatory in nature. Something which continued to amuse him because, of course, he had always been a predator. Never allowing himself to be the prey. Therefore, placing himself firmly at the top of the food chain. His quarry, unlimited.

Those around him had always been expendable; so easily manipulated for his purposes. Making for perfect pawns in his grand schemes. Everyone was fair game, but now it had changed. Now manipulating his prey didn't just bring him amusement, and an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. It was something he enjoyed on a primal level. He didn't want to just catch his prey, he wanted to devour it. Just as the world had tried to devour him.

In his eyes, his self-imposed mutilations were but a small price to pay for such sustained longevity.

* * *

Before his control could slip through his grasp, he was forced to tunnel his sights toward his surroundings instead of her. Adamantly peering at the stonework, he found himself quite familiar with the building's architectural design.

The familiarity he felt toward the place could not be denied. _Hogwarts_ , he thought without a second's hesitance. The first place where he'd truly cultivated his knowledge of the Magical World. A place where he had finally been hoisted up, granted some type of equal footing in the world. He was no longer just the orphan boy that no one spared a second glance at. Hogwarts granted him the chance to be more. It would forever be the first place he called 'home'.

Only now, instead of feeling the safety of his ancestor's magic, the air felt rank with magical unrest. They began to make their way down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly off the high arched ceilings above. He felt the pull of her memories, summoning him toward their true destination. A place, he found himself eager to reach for no explainable reason.

Memories of his once home twisted, until he barely recognized this sacred place that became his sanctuary. Where he had first discovered his true heritage. For though he stood in the castle that would forever be Salazar Slytherin's most notorious legacy, he was the farthest from at ease.

His childhood home felt defiled by the darkness. The one place he would be hesitant to see darkness fall.

He knew not what to think of this distorted perversion of his own memories. Voldemort had always trusted himself; the only being in the world who would never betray or disappoint him. Now though, his own memories were proving to be questionable.

As responsive as Voldemort had always thought himself to be of the Dark Arts, he should have been able to feel this from the dungeons. The fact he'd remained in the dark, unsettled him. The Dark Lord wondered what else he could've overlooked in his adolescent age, young and arrogant in his power. Feeling more vulnerable than he'd been in years, he swallowed thickly at the implications behind such deceit.

There were few things he would stand for less than being played a fool. He was not only ' _a_ ' Dark Lord. He was ' _The_ ' Dark Lord. Omniscient. Never to be tricked or used. It was Voldemort who controlled those around him; disposing of those who served no purpose or displeased him. In the end, they were no more than pawns to be sacrificed at his will.

Nevertheless at this exact moment in time, he felt more amiss than ever before. His senses spoke of sinister workings afoot. The game had already begun and instinctively, he knew he was not the only king on the board. His enemies were planning a coup. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon. This sickening feeling he had felt only once before, as he apparated into Godric's Hollow all those years ago. His senses had never failed him. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon.

He gazed over at her form, striding through the halls as though she were naught but a ghost. Distanced from her surroundings. She stared deep into the void, as though she had seen death and feared his great return. This witch, of whom he had no recollection, was quite an unusual creature. And while he could not fully grasp her motivations, he could truly feel a familiarity between their magics. He found himself wanting to taste her skin, to feel her heart flutter beneath his touch. Quick and panicked, but not from fear.

A feeling which lead him to feel quite opposed to casting her account aside, quite yet. For as awry as his mind had begun to feel, he could not deny the peace his soul felt at her mere presence. It was this familiarity that quelled his murderous impulses. He did not feel the need to raise his wand and watch her squirm beneath him, as he did others. No impulse to watch her beg and cry at his feet.

He had a strange inkling it would bring him no pleasure. Which in itself was strange, because seeing vulnerability in others had always brought a certain amount of joviality to his imposing demeanor. It had always reminded him that all those who suffered, could be controlled. For, anyone weak enough to possess such sentimentalities, opened themselves up to being exploited in such a manner.

It told him that he would need to remain vigilant, lest he find himself surrounded at all sides by this nameless enemy. It told him that there was still time left to conquer these shadowed foes. That he was far from beaten. Far from hearing the word 'checkmate' spoken unto him by this invisible adversary.

This witch, she was different to him in some way. Perhaps not an enemy; but whether she'd prove to be an ally he could not say. He would obtain his answers though. Burning through her mind until it was an empty shell, if he must. It mattered not in the end.

All at once, right and wrong warred inside his body; battling fruitlessly against an unseen enemy. Unbeknownst to him, the curtain had already begun to lift from his mind. Soon, all would be as it should have been.

Darkness had once lurked inside the heart of Hogwarts. Moving about deep in the dead of night, unseen while the castle slept. This powerful Dark user had foolishly threaded their fingers into the sheer fabric of time. Failing to see the dangers that would await the one who had defied the laws of magic. The one who ravaged his mind; stealing precious thoughts which ought to have been left in peace. Unknowing that only devastation could follow such a deception.

For in the dark, he was far from blind.. and he would devour this enemy at any cost.

* * *

As they passed the torches lining the halls, he began to stare at the way the firelight danced in their torches, he began to notice oddities in the scene before him. When he focused closely on where the flames licked at the air, he could see ripples vibrate through the ether surrounding it.

In fact, as they travelled beyond her mindscape and into her memories, he was shocked at just how much she saw. Curiosity burned his insides, as he fought back the urge to question exactly how she manipulated her magic so. He could feel it pulsing off the objects around them. Reflecting in a way, to form a scene around them.

He had not the time yet to fully consider, the impact her blindness may have had on the scene before them. And though he assumed her other senses to be more acute, she seemed to 'see' a great deal.

She'd watched his expressions, waiting for the moment he'd uncover the visual discrepancies around them.

 _"Trying to comprehend how it is that we can see anything at all here, in a blind woman's memories?"_ She chuckled sardonically.

 _"Tsk. I remember my brother being far more perceptive of such things."_

At that, Voldemort whipped his glaring eyes over to her slight form. Sneering at her slight. She, who described a sibling which he had no memory of. If what she said was truth, if she was not a deceiving wench, that put him at quite the disadvantage. For that would mean she had knowledge, far more than he was currently in possession of.

Knowledge being a key factor that put you ahead of the game. There was also the possibility she might dare to feed him false information; skewing the past to benefit her vantage point. He was not unaware of the secrets one could hide inside such devices. Memories, while they could not be falsely induced, could be shaped to satisfy one's grand design.

He studied her every movement under a punishing eye. Listening to the pulse of her heart beat, steady in its veracious rhythm. Knowing that if he so much as tasted the fair hint of a lie on her sly tongue, he would be sure to cut from her mouth. In the meantime, he occupied himself by listening for the tell-tale flutter of her pulse. Knowing any forthright lie would reveal itself quite illustriously to his attuned ears.

She however, remained unmoved by his overzealous attentions. Walking over to face him, she raised her hand in front of his line of vision. He caught her wrist in his steely grip. Carefully observing her slight form and timid approach. Reading no ill intent in her body language, he allowed her to lay her palm gently over his eyes.

Her skin ghosting across his own for a brief moment in time. Its warmth heated his cool reptilian skin instantly. A feeling he found oddly pleasurable. She found herself intrigued by the smooth skin around his eyes. She had after all, seen this horcrux emerge from her visions within the past year; but 'seeing' him and feeling him beneath her fingertips were quite different.

Her magic felt the subtle differences in him. The horcruxes had always felt slightly different from his original form. Each reshaped his magical structure to such a degree, she could easily identify his every shattered piece.

She smiled softly, as if they were unintentionally repeating a rare moment from time.

 _"If you look deeper, you'll see. Use your magic, not your eyes,"_ she whispered. Her voice took on a slightly dreamy quality, making her sound distracted and far away. Leaning in, she spoke once more.

 _"Feel not with your body, but with your mind. Taste not with your tongue, but with your very soul."_

Neither realized she had placed her free hand over his heart, at the mere mention of his fragmented soul. So consumed they were by the feel of the other's touch.

It was no easy feat, she knew. But the layers were there just waiting to be peeled back, studied, and understood. A wizard of his standing should be able to close his eyes and just 'feel' with his seventh sense. But then, when had feeling come easy to either of them. Surely it was a struggle for her brother, a being who relied on information and hard facts, as well as in-discrepancies in the general principles of human reaction. He was determined though, she knew. If she told him he must do it, he would. He was not a figure to easily accept defeat.

He shut his eyes tightly; concentrating his brilliant mind only on the task at hand.

* * *

Not half a minute had passed before she heard it. That quiet hiss of breath into his lungs, alerted her as easily as if he'd spoken aloud. She may have been out of practice, but she was far from ignorant to his tells. His behavior, as well as all of the habits that he masqueraded behind. His every face had kept her sane inside that hell of a prison. He could not hope to hide from her, as he did others.

 _He wears this expressionless mask with too little ease,_ she thought worriedly. She wondered if he even realized how lonely he really was. She could hear his soul crying out for her; like a newborn babe would, its mother. She couldn't silence its pleas as their skin made contact. Amplifying any residual bonds between them.

He was at first overcome by the way textures and color perception distorted the world around them. Every detail bathed him in a sensory overload, nearly drowning him from the overwhelming flow of power. Almost like his vision was warped by heat sensory, similar to that of a werewolf's.

While it had often amused him to watch his enemies through Greyback's eyes during the raids, this was something wholly anew. Where the senses of wolves were purely on a physical and animalistic level, this went beyond anything he could vocalize. Seeing one's visceral fear light up their body's image had always set his pulse racing in excitement. This set every nerve ending deep within his body and soul on fire.

This sight that she used so flippantly, magnified every detail physical and metaphysical combined. A sort of god-like ability he knew the Muggles would seek to stamp out, if given the opportunity. _Such sheer talent_ , he mused. Feeling a sense of greed enter his heart. He admired it. And anything he admired, he would have.

" _Who are you?"_ He queried, turning his new form of vision from his surroundings to rest his gaze down upon her. Where her usually pale orbs rested, now glowed two stars, forming their own constellation. Both shining brighter than any _Lumos_ he'd ever seen cast. He could see the very essence of the magical world shimmer off every curve and dip of her skin, as she stood before him like some goddess from tales  & myth.

Her abilities as a seer were illuminated at once. Never in his lifetime had he heard mention of such a rarity living amongst them. He gazed down at her in true splendor. The need to possess such a unique weapon was staggering. Indeed, he could see why someone wished to hide her from the world. Whether the same blood ran through her veins as his or not, she would be kept close at his side.

However, there was something delicious at the thought of her being his. He almost yearned for it; to be tied to something so completely. Voldemort would possess her in a way no one else ever could. Yet, as he thought this, something foreign grew from within his stomach.. forbidding him from seeing her as simply an object that he desperately wanted to acquire.

Voldemort didn't know what to make of such a feeling, yet he imagined it would be helpful all the same. After all, he liked the idea of her being around him because she wanted to. For that he would have to seduce her to the his side. In the end she would be much more cooperative. And with no living family left, no other could lay any claim upon her. She could be his forever.

" _I am Vera,"_ The woman introduced herself faintly, as if that told him all he needed to know.

 _"..I am your sister."_ She finished with a hint of a smile apparent in her voice.

 _Your other half. The calm to your storm._ Words that desperately wanted to roll off the tip of her tongue, yet Vera silenced them before they could. No need to overwhelm him with information. After all, if she had it her way he would know all there was. All in due time.

As the hand shielding his eyes fell away, they gradually opened to allow him to bear witness the facade that she wore with such modesty. Showcasing her pallor, her skin looked nearly translucent under the poor lighting. He wondered if he'd be able to see the blue of her veins running down the straights of her arms. Her delicate wrists had felt so breakable under his hold earlier. Doll-like in nature, and altogether too vulnerable to be related to him, by any means.

He noticed that she stood only a few inches shorter than him. A surprising attribute, as he towered above most. Her form fell in graceful curves; lithe in both movement and esthetics. Whether her long silvery mane fell around her face or swept back, he was sure she could make even a full-bred veela envious. He could not deny he held quite a covetous fascination toward her.

As he looked closely, he began to recognize the curve of her high cheekbones and the sly curve of her lips. Features he had once bore with such pride. She held the same aristocratic features he had once used to lure followers to his cause. Back before his magic had grown so menacing, that he'd discovered something infinitely more satisfying.

Their deference grew to be limitless when it did not hide behind lust. When only dread and respect were all that remained. His sway over them became godly, as their bodies quaked from fear at his every word. Their fear and idolatry fed him like the demons he remembered from his childhood. Lies fed to the children by the Muggle priests, eager to scare them into submission. Something he'd never been fully able to believe, for his curiosity led him to ask too many leery questions. He'd always been rather dubious to the nature of the 'proof,' that such deities existed.

Alas, the urge to touch her was strong. One that he barely contained the impulse to reach out and take hold of her. Possessive thoughts cluttered his mind, and though he would have loved to run his hands down her body. To let them graze her skin, and burn a trail that would be visible to all who dared to try to touch her. He forced his hands to remain down by his sides. Making conscious effort to not clench his hands, lest she discover his inner turmoil.

Was she who she claimed to be? Though he felt growing disbelief at her words, processing them as quickly as he was able to through the shock that flooded his system, he couldn't deny that it made sense. How he felt kindred to a woman that he didn't know. Her image continued to cause ripples through the back of his mind. His control perilously withering at his feet, as she closed their proximity evermore.

Voldemort swore that when he found out who dared to obliviate and tamper with his memories, they would pay for such actions with their life.

When he finally spoke, he spoke with a composure that divulged little of his true thoughts, of the wrath that was carefully hidden from view even as it pulsed through his veins with dangerous intent.

 _"Show me the one who did this to you.. To us."_

* * *

 _Author's Note: Thank you again everyone who has followed, favorited, & reviewed any in the past few months. You are the reason I have been writing and rewriting this chapter(and story), trying to get it just right. Above all else, I have to also think two beautiful ladies that have, for all intents and purposes, beta'd/co-written the fuck out of this chapter. It's true perfection and you both deserve full credit. WarriorHime53 and Deanna. Price (no space), you both have really made this chapter possible when I was really to end it all. They're two creative writers that just amaze me week after week. I love you both._

 _I hope you all enjoy where I plan to take this story. As I've said previously, I'm in it for some serious twists and turns, so hold onto your hats everyone!_ _As for the next chapter, I have it all written up now. And it is a gruesome beauty. *thumbs up* Just needs a little wax and shine, and it should be hitting your inboxes in the next week._

 _As always, you know there's nothing that gets the wheels turning like a little feedback. So please, don't be shy. We'd love to hear any thoughts or concerns you may have. I will get back to every single one that I'm able to. Jazzy-Marie(Guest) & Anonymous(Guest), thank you for your kind words! I look forward to hearing from you both again! You both really pushed me to get this bad boy out tonight. _

_Now, I'm going on about 4hrs of sleep right now and heading into work on approx. 4hrs tomorrow, so you'll have to excuse any errors. I was determined to get this out before I headed into work. I sincerely hope you enjoy. The next part of the memory is continued on through next chapter, and it's well on its way!_

 _Until next time!_


	4. Chapter 4- Vera

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

 _A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

 _No Copyright Infringement Intended_

 _All rights belong to JK Rowling_

 _As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

 _ **Chapter Four: Vera**_

A beatific grin took hold of Vera's curling lips in response to his demand. The action magnifying the curvature of her features tenfold, as triumph illuminated her natural radiance. Deep within her opaline depths; she personified a sort of child-like innocence. Raising her hand, she indulged them both with yet another shared touch. Easily forgetting the decades that had past since her fingertips last grazed the curve of his strong jaw. Gently smoothing the pads of her nimble fingers across his skin, like a touch starved lover. One that spoke of deep fondness and intimate familiarity.

Unlike the time before, the Dark Lord didn't shy from her; but merely gazed at her questioningly. As though he didn't know what to make of such a gesture. She slowly grazed her fingertips affectionately down his cheek, leaving a fiery trail in her wake. Igniting his cool skin, as though she'd drawn an incendiary rune into his flesh with hers. The warmth caused his bones to nearly melt from within. The seemingly charred flesh surrounding his body, became ever more pliant under her caress.

Making it all the more deplorable when she suddenly, without rhyme nor reason, turned away abruptly. Veiling her troubled visage from his riveted stare. A stare that had sent many a weaker wizard into near cardiac arrest. But this time however, he did not feel the same predatory need to kill, as he had them. His senses detected no such stench emitting from her skin. In fact, if he were to put a name to her scent, he might go so far as to call it pleasant. Had he the time to pry apart each node in her web of pheromones, he might have been driven speechless from utter confoundment. But as it was, his mind revolved time and time again around one word in particular. _Fascinating._

He had been dissecting her every move, long before she took those two steps away from him. He watched her as though _she_ were the one not fully human. Her temples throbbed from her mounting anxiety. Memories of things that had long ago passed, echoed through her mind. Nearly splitting her skull in two from the violent intrusion. Feelings of things that she had long ago let die inside her, when she'd disappeared from the world. And as she ripped herself away from his immediate reach, they both heaved in a disorienting breath. Each left gasping at the sheer juxtaposition between their warring emotions.

The Dark Lord himself, suffered a devastating loss the moment she ceased to warm his skin with hers. The derelict feeling in the pit of his stomach cumulated into something unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He could but liken the sensation to his discovery of his diary's complete and utter destruction. Her abandoning touch nearly withdrew a reaction most undesirable from him.

Were it not for the reining Dark Lord's tightly gripped control, he'd have exposed his burgeoning desires of the flesh quite spectacularly. A weakness, he'd forbade himself from suffering. It was in this moment of clarity, that he cast his fascinated eyes from following the unyielding line of her spine down into more dangerous territory. His troubled eyes instead, falling to the space between their bodies; revealing his own body's treacherous response to her.

Leveled beneath his fearsome stare, he willed his half-erect cock into submission. Disgusted by the emergence of such a base animal mating instinct, infecting his tightly gripped control. He sought to deny any culpability, blaming it entirely on his form's unnatural mutations. It might have worked if not for the fact that he was much too analytical, to be completely lulled into believing his own paltry excuses.

His wand arm raised, fingers extending out in a ravenous need to return her skin to his. Fingers closing around air, as he clenched his fists in repugnance. He glared down at the betraying limb in disgust, lowering it back down to his side. Flashing his violent crimson orbs once more in her direction, as he suddenly wished he had not lowered his arm so thoughtlessly after all. But rather desiring to cradle his long deft fingers around the unyielding yew wand, Garrick Ollivander had handcrafted some years previous. Long before the wandmaker had any knowledge of the man whom Tom Riddle, would turn into.

Alas, as his orbs waned from their bone-chilling carmine hue, they settled back to their natural state. A blue so frigidly pale, that he'd often wondered how he had ever lured another to his side with false sincerity and warmth. Something he didn't think himself capable of, in the least. Though if he sought to achieve complete transparency, he'd long ago given up on truly understanding the human condition. Humans, they were as insignificant to him as the lowly ant underfoot. Running around aimlessly before they died, without a hope to grasp true genius with their simple minds.

Her actions though, perplexed him and he was not one to allow his attentions to deviate needlessly. She'd proven herself quite worthy of his study, just moments before. The sheer existence of a seer at his beck and call, would bolster his followers' fidelity exponentially. A thought which both pleased and confounded him immensely. For the idea that he might require such reinforcement, spoke of weakness in his ranks. It voiced an underlying impotence in his ability to lead his followers into a new era.

His conflicting emotions had at first, felt quite alien to him. Though he was discovering quickly that the longer their encounter lasted, the further his mind distorted. Yielding discord from within the depths of his mind, along with accompanying responses which he struggled to conceal.

Unused, as he was to suffering such conditions experienced by those of inferior intellectual pursuits, he felt infuriated by the woman that stood beside him. _How dare she encumber his thoughts with unnecessary_ _feelings,_ he seethed internally. The actions themselves seemed to be done offhand, but he remained ever vigilant, nonetheless.

The way that she was, dare he say, _comfortable_ at his side, astounded him greatly. For while even though she shied away just moments before, he got the distinct feeling it was contradictory to her body's true desires. Her actions came off as if it were second nature to glide her skin along his flesh. Thoughtless of how dangerous he indeed was. Almost as though she was flippantly ignoring how easily he could brutally slaughter her. As if he hadn't done just that, to the hundreds or perhaps even thousands, before her. The very idea caused him to bristle, at the mockery. He would _not_ be disrespected in such a manner!

What knowledge did this beautiful woman possess that made her act in such a foolish way? That gave her such security despite the comprehension of just who he was? He ached to obtain that kind of knowledge, the cognition that should have never been extracted from his mind in the first place. For even with but a portion of his soul, he felt whole; but take his mind, and he was but a sliver of the wizard he truly could be.

Since having begun his acute observations of the woman claiming to be his sister, he'd come to a very intriguing realization indeed. For as her slippery tongue alleged one thing, her actions spoke a truth far displaced from modern society's readily accepted ideals. Alluding to scandal, larger than anything his mind could have suspected. Something which if true, and he greatly suspected it was, would make this next conversation infinitely more interesting.

" _Tell me sweet Vera,"_ He slowly began, savoring the dulcet tones her name brought to his sibilant speech patterns.

" _You have laid claim to have been my sister of long-lost. Flesh of my flesh. That we share the same blood that ran through my greatest of Slytherin ancestors. Yet,"_ he paused for dramatic effect.

" _You do not_ touch _me like I am your brother."_ He affirmed to her boldly, his voice growing soft the more he spoke but it seemed he couldn't stop himself from consciously eyeing her form with narrowed crimson orbs; a visible attempt to unveil her secrets.

" _Nor do you_ look _at me like we are family."_ Stepping just a hairsbreadth from her back, he allowed his thumb and forefinger to stroke a line down her jaw. Firmly delving into his newfound ability, to 'see' as she saw. Magic crackled in the air around them, as his skin found purchase upon hers. Turning her chin to face him, he stared into her radiant orbs like she was his equal. For as he had previously discovered, her 'sight' offered her something far greater than any normal pair of eyes could. For not simply _anyone_ could connect with one's magical core on such a raw and instinctual level. And look she did, for he could feel her magic calling his to every available surface on his body. Just as his did hers. Like two contrasting magnets desperately seeking out the other's touch.

" _Why?"_ He hissed; eager to pry the tabooed admission from her, before she could secret away the true nature of their connection. If she truly had some rancorous knowledge of a sordid incestual affair, he would hear of it now; before truth reached him by other means. For while his mind abhorred the idea of her truly being his kin, he was completely at a loss for any other plausible explanation. It would certainly explain the pull he felt toward her. As he didn't easily befall attraction of the bodily sort. Nor magical.

After all, he had met women before who molded others around them; twisting them into little more than mindless pawns. With nary a whisper of resistance on their victim's lips, they'd find themselves strung up as fools. Dancing to the every whim of the seductress, who could no more counter a curse than a Squib. A foul waste of air in his opinion, for he despised those without any real magical talent. But he didn't feel bewitched or possessed, as those wizards had so blindly felt.

Contempt and some other emotion he had yet to put a name to, licked up the back of his throat, like a thirst he needed to quench. From the depths of his body, he felt the predatory call of his ophidian senses, seeking to quell his enmity with blood. _Her_ blood. But he stayed his hand, until he had proof of such _deceptions_.

The wizened Dark Lord would not be left at some simpering witch's mercy. For while she was as talented with her touch as she was her tongue, he was no thoughtless simpleton. And if she dared gift him with a lie, she would be delivered a most painful death.

He was Lord Voldemort after all. A connoisseur of the Dark Arts. A devious manipulator and known sociopath. A mass murderer. He craved nothing more than dominating others; exhibiting absolute control. The thrill he got from holding a life in the palm of his hand, could not be matched. He was a wizard who could suss out the most deceiving of lies, which was why she caused him such internal duress. She shook his constraints as though he were naught but an inexperienced novice. Something he hadn't felt since he failed to deceive Albus Dumbledore, all those years previous.

The intricacies of the human mind, were something he didn't quite understand, so much as instinctively _know._ He had no real grasp on the emotional workings behind love or true despair. He was bereft of such a capacity. Such had always been the case for him; even as a child he could read the wants and motivations behind others' actions. Long before he had developed his magical gifts into something wholly extraordinary, he'd discovered something equally as remarkable. A natural talent for stratagem, buried deep in his subconscious. A supremacy that had once more hammered into him, the notion that he was _more_ than those simpering rats living in the orphanage's walls.

He'd taken to carefully cultivating his machinations over his years. His need for complete control was unexplainable. Born to him out of hate and envy of others. But more so, of his own greed. It enabled him to compartmentalize. While others his age barely grasped the concept of letters, he'd already begun to realize the power which language held. Authors carved their thoughts into the minds of the masses. Defying death through their literary talents. Their name, alive on the lips of the people, centuries after their bodies perished; subordinate to no force or governing body. They were immortal.

Though the art of manipulation was more than just speech and perception, it drove the mind to identify certain markers with offense. For the young Slytherin heir, such a knowledge was tantamount to success. One could be whatever they wished to be under the proper guidance. Under the right rules. For years, the future Dark Lord studied people and their reactions to positive and negative stimulus. He learned how far children could be pushed before madness broke. Before tears wet their little cherubic cheeks, when they finally realized they'd been deceived; a delicacy he could savor like the finest of wine. The power he held was seductive; the more he used it, the more he yearned to use again.

Although it was within facial features that told a story all their own; a hidden truth that bled to the surface. Unlimited to such seclusive constrictions, so unlike vocalization required. It was a fascinating study and happened to be one in which he'd used throughout his life, as his most effortless way of reading someone. The older purebred lines made note to teach their young the art of neutral deceptions early on. Such was how they thrived in the political world.

Mannerisms were a thing to be dissected and studied, as well. Fleeting in their ephemeral existence. Here one moment, gone the next. They were weapons, waiting to be harnessed. They provided transparency. Broadcasting the truth, when all else was lies. And in that moment, he saw many a veracious piece of the puzzle that was _her_.

Interrupted by an almost bell-like laughter, his thrashing thoughts stilled.

" _I suppose your query is meant to send me off-balance. Make me loose lipped and frightened of what secrets I could be hiding,"_ Vera began to speak in a softened voice that echoed around her and conflicting with her body language as she swiveled around to meet him head-on, glaring magnificently at his snake-like visage without fear.

" _Perhaps I'll lie to you and tell you I'm Dumbledore's lackey, since you're so obviously trying to bait me into revealing some form of trickery,"_ she continued daringly, fueled by the outward suspicion dripping from his lips. It caused her anguish to watch him regard her with such provocation, looking through her eyes but not acknowledging just who she was to him..

" _As if I would lower myself to accept anything beneath what is rightfully_ mine _,"_ she sneered, contemptuous of the battle that she knew would come to pass before he discovered she was exactly who she was. _So distrustful, as always brother of mine. Some things never change no matter our time apart..._ Vera just never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

" _But that would also imply that you're too short-sighted to listen to your instincts, when they so clearly just told you that there was indeed a Dark user in the school."_ She stabbed her finger in his direction. _"You felt it."_ She said confidently. _"I know you did."_

His top lip curled back at her assumption; at her daringly behavior that went farther than any other before her in all his recollection on this earth. How resilient and durable she was with her strength. It was something to be respected as much as it irked him at this very second. It was the assumption that she knew him better than he himself did, how she picked up on his near undetectable habits.

" _Did I, witch? You seem to know quite a significant deal of things you shouldn't. Things you_ couldn't _know."_

The subtle tilting of her head paired with the minor shift in her brows, left her looking somewhat cocky, no - _expectant,_ he supplied. It nearly pained him to ignore the distractingly refined arch of her neck. It was almost as if she was indulging him in continuing the charade. He supposed, if she could indeed see future events, this conversation may seem quite rehearsed. Though it was the first time he could ever recollect speaking to the girl, not quite woman. Even the elegant clasp of her hands at her back, gave him the impression that his questions had, as planned, provided just the prompt she had been waiting for.

" _Perhaps, I am not lying at all my Serpent King. Have you stopped to consider your enemies may not be who you think?"_ Her sibilant tones giving her voice a far more desirable quality. Even as she spoke in riddles, his eyes were drawn to her lips. Which had once more appeared their natural sanguine hue, as he struggled to keep up his enhanced vision.

Her matter-of-fact smile turned rather shadowed, as she continued sadly. " _It's quite the tragedy really, our story. I'm the only woman you have ever found worthy of your touch, and you can't even remember it."_ Looking down, she disappeared deep into her mind for a moment, causing his brow to furrow from his absolute emotional ineptitude.

Her somber pout curled up in the corners, until she tried to grin playfully back at him. _"Alas, I guess I'll just have to settle for being the only one alive to know just how to make a Dark Lord beg."_ She finished with a teasing smile that made his blood burn hot with indignation, at her playful quips. She, who seemed to know such intimate details that he, himself was unawares.

Her pulse held steady, as she remained surprisingly at ease in his presence. Voldemort tightened his jaw instinctually at her almost arrogant manner of speaking. For while the Dark Lord could grasp nearly every known subject of magical theorem, joviality seemed beyond his comprehension. Something he'd neither understood nor ever found wish to. Completely impeding his senses to be able to detect the underlying fondness, of which she had spoken to him. He felt his temper rising, as he sought to lash out at her for her disrespectful words. Punish her.

" _You seem to have neglected to remember, the near fifty years I have spent out of your reach while you remained locked in your little cage. What would you know of a Dark Lord's desires? A boy's perhaps, but certainly not a wizard of my caliber."_ They were face to face by this point. It was while observing her minute facial movements, that he delivered his final blow to her heart; like a dagger of ice penetrating her soul.

" _Surely, you don't think I remember the sweet sounds you might have made under my hands, for I certainly do not."_ He finished with a grin; enjoying the way she hissed in a slow intake of breath, in retaliation. He took great pleasure in burning her, as she had him.

It was with an unnatural quickness that she latched her wrist around his throat, throwing him up against the wall at his back with an unyielding strength. Immobilizing him initially from shock, before he realized she had disallowed him any movement in this memory world, which she had absolute control over. Paralysis held him utterly at her abhorrent mercy. Her jaws snapped menacingly, in his direction like an animal. While he found himself reminded of Bella in that moment, for some inexplicable reason. Their prideful natures forced a sort of primitive violence to the surface.

" _If you think I won't rip you from throat to balls, if you make one more demeaning comment, you are far more stupid than I previously thought. You are already on thin ice over that Potter nonsense you allowed to happen. Tsk, tsk, brother_ _mine."_

He was half encouraged to laugh at her threat, but that Potter business was in bad taste. His magic flared out at that last comment, but hers overwhelmed his. In her company, he found himself flailing in his attempts to reinforce his mental barriers. Tremors wracked the walls which encapsulated his vicious magical core. Her foreign presence contaminated his mind's impregnable defenses with unknown desires. The likes of which he had no interest in entertaining. But he was vexed tenfold at the way she tried to cage him in. _No one laid their hands on him._

He could feel his magic pulsing haphazardly from within the depths of his body, lashing out in vociferous wrath. Enraptured as he was by the mere taste of her body's pheromones in the air between them, he was overcome by a tantalizing _hunger_ , burning through his sternum. It was as if she called to every base instinct he'd buried long before. He felt altogether possessed by the woman, like a moth to flame. Enthralled by her ghoulish beauty. Her ferocity. Like a lioness ready to land her final blow. _Such magnificent violence._

The sinfully addictive magic that mirrored his own in both control and capacity, wrapped around her like a cocoon. This woman who claimed to be of the prestigious Slytherin bloodline, matched him in ways that no other individual had succeeded before. He felt his eyes growing hot, as if his fragmented soul had risen to the surface to watch this beautiful creature. For indeed, he would not discount her beauty, her power as anything less. With his eyes flaring a blood-red hue, he looked demon possessed.

She saw his feral desires, crashing upon her own with reckless abandon. Instead of quivering in fear, her body shivered in anticipation. Almost like she planned to devour him whole.

Slyly, she ran her nose up along his neck, viciously sinking her teeth into his flesh. Punishing him for his waspish words, before soothing his flesh with her tongue. Physically claiming him as _hers_. Causing him to let loose a strain of Parseltongue, before she devoured the words right out of his mouth. Sucking, coaxing, and biting his tongue in some battle to claim his mouth as her own, as well. He tasted both her and her blood, and he couldn't tell which ensnared him more. But he suddenly felt ravenous for _more._

She even seemed to understood his monster's base need to dominate, to conquer. Wordlessly allowing him to reach out and wrap his arms possessively around her lithe frame. His demanding hands laid claim to her long pale locks, twisting and pulling with a mind all their own. Descending all the way down her spine to the full curve of her hips, which would never feel the weight of child-bearing. Her lush curves laid untouched by time and malnourishment, even after the withering years locked inside the cavernous walls of Azkaban. He claimed her in that moment with just as demanding a touch as she'd felt, binding him against the wall.

Whatever the Dark magic she was using to whittle his defenses into dust, he felt like he had already gained something infinitely more substantial than a wounded pride. He'd gained _her_. Something that, if the current placement of his hands had any meaning whatsoever, he would not be releasing anytime in the near future. She was _his,_ and he would make sure she never strayed from his side again. For once he discovered the source of his mental afflictions, he would force upon them immeasurable pain unlike any he'd ever delivered before. His vengeance would be absolute and there would be no mercy for the filth who dared lay a hand on what was _his_.

After that, he would drown in her. Her blood, her body, and her secrets. Just to see which tasted the sweetest.

* * *

Author's Note:

I hope you're all just a little bit more piqued after this little snippet of what's to come. I've been sitting on this chapter for a couple weeks now, like a bird waiting for a egg to hatch. But after thinking it over tonight, I just decided to go ahead & split it into two pieces. I want to keep the updates coming, & I cannot state enough how motivating your reviews have been. Every one counts! If there's anything spelling-wise that I could change or if you have any questions concerning plot/character development, I AM ALL EARS. I take everyone's concerns into consideration, & while I understand the content might not be everyone's cup of tea, I really do appreciate constructive criticism. Let me know how this one turned out!


	5. Chapter 5- All In

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

 _A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

 _No Copyright Infringement Intended_

 _All rights belong to JK Rowling_

 _As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

* * *

 **Chapter Five** _ **: All In**_

It was the barrage from the bell tower's midnight toll, that broke them apart. The reverberations, ran up through the castle's walls like an electrical charge. It traveled up Voldemort's spine and into her body, through every place they were connected. Caged as she was in his possessive grasp, she felt every vibration run through her. Shocking her away from his devilish tongue, before he could devour her completely.

The air weighed heavily on their lungs, as they gasped for breath. Their eyes glazed with delirium, as their soul bond reignited. Their magic combined like a building thundercloud, rolling dangerously through the abandoned corridor. The torches flickered as their magic snapped back into their bodies, with great force. Jolting them apart and back into themselves.

Despite any claim of blood relation, neither could deny how they had each taken to the other's proximity like fuel to an already ferocious flame. He, an extension of her, as much as her once beloved birch and unicorn hair wand. A magnificent wand which Ollivander's father had skillfully made, just a few years before his passing. The unicorn hair was a combination of two strands, having belonged to a mare and her foal he'd encountered during his travels abroad some years past. The gifted wandmaker had healed her young foal from the deathly sting of a manticore, after she'd wandered into its den. A life debt that had been repaid with a hair from each beautiful creature.

When it became clear she was destined for _that_ wand, he had told her gently what his Papa had once told him. That only a truly blessed witch could ever be chosen to harness such a weapon. For a wand of this caliber chose only one master in its lifetime, and it would never betray her once found. For the wand's core housed an interwoven braid of not one, but two of the purest strands of unicorn hair he had ever laid eyes on.

When her faithful companion had been destroyed before her very eyes, she'd felt its dying pulse of magic blanket her in raw magic. Offering her this last form of protection, against her attacker. It had saved her, in a time when she couldn't save herself. In the moments before she had lost everything. It had saved her from death. Cocooned her from age, until she was ready to fight again. Until she was to be released from her prison.

Nearly fifty years had passed since that day, and now as her own flesh and blood stood before her, she wondered just how long she had left amongst the living. For life and death were part of the natural order of things. Surely her wand would have read her understanding of the influx between the two. Defying such a natural law forever would be impossible. Her only quandary was that if she was indeed simply living on borrowed time, when would the last grains of sand fall?

She had after all, no horcruxes to keep her animated long after she died. Nor had she a child by which to live on in memory. No, unless she was able to bridge the gaps in her brother's memories, when she died, she would be well and truly gone. A stone cold thought which pushed her forth.

Here in the depths of her mind, her eidetic memory had proved itself most useful. She had been able to drift through any of the scrolls and tomes Hogwarts's library had afforded her. Most importantly the ones concerning the intricate arts of Legilimency and its many uses. An art form to be mastered certainly, but one which might allow her entrance into the warded memories that were locked far inside his subconscious.

It was her only hope, for if she was unsuccessful, all was lost. For there was far more laid at stake, than simply her life and that of her soul's mate. So while she might stand strong in the face of her enemies today, only Fate herself knew what tomorrow might bring. Now more than ever before, Vera felt an undeniable sense of urgency weighing heavily on her chest.

So while even though only a fragment of her most beloved's soul lived on in this stranger's body, she had no desire to allow him to escape her clutches. Some small piece of him was there, buried beneath his war-hardened exterior. Of that, she had no doubt, but releasing him would be most difficult. Nigh impossible for the ordinary witch or wizard, but neither one of the twins could ever be considered such.

Especially when such a deep-rooted longing plagued her every waking thought. A burning ache that would flare into a fiery chasm of pain, when those perilous thoughts of him emerged. And they would always seep through, no matter how hard she tried to seal them away. With every new vision, her levees gave way; sending the flood.

Housed within her ribcage, where her full heart once rested, was where she felt it most. It was like she'd carved out half of herself, and yet still lived. Gaping wounds could very well have been gushing her life's blood for the damage her mind and heart underwent. She had beat her fists against the jagged stone walls time and time again, and still her flesh mended. Tissue healed, nails regrew, and blood washed away; but her pain would not abate. She remained frozen on the brink of death, where pain eclipsed everything around her; unable to tip over the edge.

But try as she might to numb herself, there was a higher power at work. Something that gave meaning to her trials. To her suffering.

For Fate had a way of giving her hope, even in her darkest of times. More so, when she tried to let the rising tide of pain drown her. For she believed, as only the oldest of lines did; that _magic_ , _fate_ , and _death_ were one and the same. A marriage between what could be and what would come to pass. When she had been consumed by sickness as a child, death had touched her; establishing a connection early on, before she was brought back. Whilst others would have thought her cursed, to live a life blind, she knew the truth. Death gave her the greatest gift of all; allowing her to acquire a connection to a higher realm.

Her ability to see magic in the world around her, was but a taste of what power her visions gave her. It was opening a doorway between Magic and herself. It was a talent, that she developed; but her visions, they were truly godly.

Vera considered to be the gift from Magic herself. A high honor. For the Sight was something that could change the natural order of things. To ignore such a gift or abuse them for personal gain, would be utter blasphemy. Just the idea of such was revolting to her. She could feel it in her bones; that she was meant for something greater. Perhaps her understanding gave her the power to bear such a gift, or her resounding respect. Either way, she felt her body being tugged in one direction. Guiding her to her purpose.

It was a feeling that she could not shake, telling her that she was meant to help _him_ on his journey. _The one she loved_. It pulled every particle of her body toward him. But to be honest, she had always felt it. Those with a taste for the extraordinary could sense it. The magic thrumming through the air around them. _'So powerful, to find in ones so young,_ ' Garrick Ollivander had once whispered in awe. That day in Diagon Alley, the legendary wandmaker had been found muttering ' _Great things_ ,' long after the pair had left.

Her visions had all but confirmed her thoughts. Each having been connected in some way to _him_. _Brother,_ she'd whisper. Lost to the visions unfolding behind her eyelids.

Magic wanted her to help him. To defeat that which threatened the magical world. That pitch blackened aura that caused discord in the Astrological alignment of the world. A Dark force awakening before battle. Magic, Fate, and Death stood by with bated breath as war approached. More than anything, she was being tasked to end the bloodshed before it began. For unbeknownst to the warring sides of Light and Dark, another was biding him time. Building his armies for a war that would wipe out more lives than the scales could balance. A war that would destroy the magical world's secrecy from Muggles forever.

So while her body remained stagnant, abandoned in her long-forgotten cell surrounded by Azkaban's darkest minds, her own broke through its bodily confines. Growing stronger. Building itself into something otherworldly. Something to battle the plague that was _him_ _. The destroyer._ The one who set fire to her life, and all that which was most dear to her.

Magic had given her the means to end it all. She whispered to her in the dark of night. Things that no one could know. Things that must come to pass and things that were still up to her to decide.

And so years passed, as she meditated. Dreaming of the day she could only touch him once more. It brought about a phantom feeling of warmth, even on the coldest of nights. His memory gave her strength, as he once had. The way his smile crooked ever so mischievously over at her during class, when he was able to outperform a rival. How his eyes would light up when she'd unveil some new passageway, that she'd uncovered in her wanderings. How at peace he was to discover their ancestor's hidden Chamber; when he'd cradled her cheeks in his hands, forehead resting against her own.

For when they touched they became whole in a way only they knew. Their magic sought to bind them even further than simply being siblings ever could. Their souls, fitting together like two pieces of an intricate puzzle. And when they'd dueled together side by side, they were formidable. Power far beyond anything magical children should have been able to control.

The oppression of The Great War and the orphanage's miserable conditions, made them true survivors. Where the weakest of minds crumbled around them, they were made unyielding. Like two pieces of coal put to high temperatures and pressure, waiting to be discovered as the formidable gemstones that they were. Together they weren't merely allies, they were one entity. The connection which formed between magical twins, wasn't something so easily broken. So when she saw glimpses of his future, fighting with passion blazened eyes; fighting with every last breadth of power he had in him, she was given hope. For his passion had long ago faded away with her memory.

Without her, he knew no true passion. No light to find his way through the darkness.

* * *

Her memory of him remained stronger than ever through the passing of time. Weathered like the oldest of mountains, through the years and after many storms he still stood majestic before her eyes. She could still paint him like the masters of old. Could still capture every living detail, as a magical portrait only yearned to do. And still, after all these years, he was still capable of bringing her to her knees. Her devotion, stood untouched. She protected him like the bones of old, deep in her mind's mountains. Fossils buried in her mindscape, for all eternity. Untouched by the world.

She could close her eyes and see every expression play across his features. But nothing made her heart swim in guilt, like the last. Those last few moments with him lost, like sand in a hourglass. Those words said in strife, lodged in her heart like the sharpest of knives. Her throat closed up from emotion. She wished nothing more than to take them back, but they'd already been carved into her heart.

The image haunted her. Tom joining her, taking his seat at their favorite table in the library. His robes impeccably straightened, like he had only just tidied himself up before entering. His movements precise and rigid; like when he was excited about something, but reluctant to express his emotions openly for all to see. Tells, each knew how to look for by heart. Especially in each other.

They weren't in a private place, where they could be themselves; unaffected by the eyes and judgement of others. So, they hid themselves behind a good deal of decorum. Their touches, only brief and their distance, far greater than either wished it to be. But it kept others from assuming anything untoward lay between them. Emotions which neither felt any shame for feeling. It was as natural to them as was their trust in one another. It was wordlessly understood, like breathing.

But trust, no matter how deeply felt, could not stem her worry for his darker interests.

It was because of those curiosities that their exchange grew heated. Tom had wished to discuss his latest findings on the makings of a horcrux. He had just spoken with Professor Slughorn, the night previous. Only, she'd stopped him before he was able to divulge all that the dim-witted Potions professor had let slip, in his inebriated state. She did not wish for him to find another way to abuse their bond with their ancestor's basilisk. For she knew death would be somehow required, how could it not with such a spell! And while he had one of the most deadliest of creatures at his beck and call, could she really trust he would leave her be.

He _knew_ she felt a protective motherly instinct toward the serpent, but he just couldn't resist using Slytherin's beast to finish his ancestor's work. Sashir had terrorized the school for a great many months on his orders, proud to serve the male heir of Salazar Slytherin. But still, Vera had argued on her behalf. Wishing for him to leave the great snake out of his plans, that it didn't matter to her whether people were being petrified or killed! For while those children might not have been worthy to study magic at the school, but they were of no concern to them. For she didn't feel threatened by them, and she wished he would realize that as well.

They lacked any true skill, and could no more differentiate real magic from Muggle magic. While it was pathetic, it was enough to bolster her sense of security. As it should have his! But the one thing Vera _did_ fear, was that his attacks would inevitably result in one of them being caught, or worse killed.

Their conversation had devolved into hissed words in parseltongue, before too long. Drawing the attention of a Hufflepuff prefect, before Tom stormed off. He despised others seeing him lose himself. It was weakness, to be used against him. But try as he might to keep a level head, he grew even more irrational without her by his side. His temper could spiral out of control without warning.

That being said, her opinions weren't something he ever dismissed lightly. However, her stringent refusals to participate in his efforts to achieve immortality, did not bring about any form of rational thinking. He fought hard to sway her opinion, to convince her to join him in his task, but she refused to allow for him to mutilate his soul. Or rather their soul, for they were one in the same. If one suffered, the other did as well. She could not ignore the risk, such a curse would bear upon their bond.

He had looked at her with an agonized sort of affection. Fire burned in his eyes, and shesaw every flame licking at their bond. His magic seeped heavily from his head and his heart, lighting his eyes up with uncontrolled emotion. An emotion that she had never wanted him to feel before, nor wanted him to feel again. He felt betrayed by her refusal, no matter how justified she was. It was utterly agonizing for her to witness.

She knew exactly why he bled for this, but her heart beseeched her to find another way. Her protests, however, left him feeling insecure; and for the first time since she'd lost her sight, he felt like he could not protect her. Could not protect them. This fear had driven him to desperate measures already. And if he went through with the spell without her, he would have openly admitted his immortality was worth more than his love for her. She knew the decision was his own to make, but she'd feared with everything in her being, which outcome would be made reality.

Little had she known he would not be given such a choice. For that would be taken from him as well.

* * *

When they were young, she'd lost count of the number of times that Tom had told her she was the lucky one. For her birth was one of true miracles. The matrons at the orphanage named her Vera Eleanora, meaning _True Light_. For she had been like a gift to the world; born just as Merope had breathed her last breath. Her pale locks and luminescent orbs had been the most beautiful thing many had ever seen in that side of town.

Mrs. Cole told Tom once that his mother's last gift she'd bestowed upon him was a name. Tom Riddle, after their father and Marvolo, after her own father. Though Tom knew with complete clarity that there was only one gift to have been given that day. _Her._ His mate and complete opposite, in so many ways.

Vera herself, saw his naming as a gift in disguise. For it was through his name that they were able to trace their true heritage back into the Middle Ages. But to Tom, his name marked his soul imperfect, much in the way a scar would. A wound upon his flesh, that could neither heal nor ignore. He wished to have a wondrous name, one that would be feared and lauded. A fitting name he could adjoin to hers.

It was during their last summer together, that they'd traced their Muggle father to Little Hangleton. An old forgotten town, that might have once been beautiful, but had long since been abandoned by the younger generations. Tom Riddle Sr. lived barricaded up on the farthest edge of town, alongside his readily aging parents. Where the middle-aged Muggle would've been content to leech off his family's wealth until the day that he died. A louse whom had never made anything of himself or ventured out into the world beyond.

Vera and Tom had tried to initiate contact, believing anything would be better than rotting in Wool's, but he could not bear the sight of them. Turning them away at the door but not before sneering in disgust at their raggedy clothes. Their father had been a foul excuse of a man, and his hatred for them and their kind would never be forgiven. That day, they'd returned to the orphanage with hatred furrowing behind their hearts.

They returned to Little Hangleton twice more. Watching and waiting, until they'd found someone who could tell them the story of the Gaunts. Merope Gaunt, their mother, had filled them both with such disappointment. Neither could believe a witch could have fallen prey to the likes of a Muggle swine like their father. But their grandfather, he put them all to shame. His disgusting acts unto his family were something than no mere death could make right. The Muggles didn't have words for all the things that man did to his children, but they'd long suspected the man had killed his wife, as well.

Soon, it became rather clear to them both. _He_ was the reason their family name had died. _He_ destroyed their noble name. And their mother had dared to name her brother after him. It was sacrilege.

That was why, it was with deep pride that she was able to gift him his new title; Lord Voldemort. What had started out as a game between them, had given him a name to incite terror onto those who stood up against him. Those at school who'd whispered behind their backs, had suddenly trembled in fear. No one laughed anymore at the strange Riddle girl who spent her time with the portraits. Or the boy who could always be counted on to impress the professors with his knowledge. Anagrams were something they'd both enjoyed.

Now, fifty years later the name struck a different kind of fear into the hearts of his enemies. It made him immortal, even when his horcruxes had already done the deed. Millions of magical children had been raised to know the creature that was Lord Voldemort. They feared to even speak the name! But to her, he was simply a man. A wizard who could do her more harm to her than any other.

* * *

The months passed, just as the hundreds before had. Years - decades slid past in the blink of an eye. Dementors floated past, starved and in want of a true meal. They'd become rather irritable, after the escape of Sirius Black. Though to try and decipher their mere shadow of feeling, was nearly as inconceivable as the fact that they seemed to feel them at all. But she watched them, as they passed, just out of reach. Day in and day out, the deathly predators prowled. The others curled into themselves, feeling more dread with every pass. She didn't know exactly what they saw when they peered into her cage; but they never railed against her bars like they did the others. It almost seemed to her, that they felt some sort of compulsion to keep their distance; which wildly intrigued her. _Could they sense Death's touch?_

And when the night came without sight or sound, she knew they'd fled. The cold weight over her chest lifted, if only slightly. It was that night that she closed her eyes and laid down peacefully to wait. Knowing that when she arose, her freedom would be merely at the tips of her fingers. And so when the first ward fell, she positioned herself away from where the shrapnel would soon fall.

For Lord Voldemort had arrived. Just as her visions had foretold.

Standing there with his robes whipping about him, like some avenging angel from the stories they were told as children. What was once a silent night, was made riotous when the prison's wards fell. Thunder could be heard and lightning could be seen, as the torrential downpour began. Gales launched the waves up onto the shores with ear shattering force.

The scene played out exactly as her visions had illustrated. Each moment pieced itself together, in the way that had already been decided years before. Even Bellatrix would play her role. But when the moment finally came - when he gazed through the gaping wound in the mortar, she could not help but to gasp in a breath. For no visions or dreams could have made her _feel_ as she did in that moment, falling into his cool blue depths.

Every sight and sound became infinitely more tangible. Blurred visions cleared, and reality thrust her forth, to guide him. To reach out through the crumbling wall, inviting him in evermore. Every bitter inhale of the sea's salty air, grounded her; until she was able to truly focus. Slowly, the cacophony died away as she peered out past his eerie disfigurements.

It wasn't his flesh she wished to examine, but rather his eyes. Proving to herself that this was indeed him; that she wasn't still asleep. Staring out beneath his serpentine features, rested the hardened eyes of a warlord who had done terrible things to rise to power. Windows to the soul, indeed. For they spoke a story all their own. And while most would shrivel in horror, she remained hypnotized by the crimson hued magic wafting from deep within.

He stood there proudly. As bold as Salazar himself, as he peered down at her with kindling interest.

She sighed in rapture, as his magic seeped into her mind. Their merging magics created a sense of euphoria, as she cocooned his with her own. His, a deep full-bodied crimson; hers as dark as the ripest plum. Both shades signifying their own levels of power. For as a magical being matured, their shading deepened as their power grew. His own had not lost one drop of its rich hue, in her eyes. Something she was unsure whether his horcruxes might have had an effect on.

Thankfully, it appeared that his own magic seemed to have protected his core from complete and utter collapse. He was still there, buried deeply beneath layer upon layers of disfigurement. Externally and internally.

She vowed then, that she would stop at nothing to find the real man beneath. To bring him up to the surface; even if she had to dive into the darkness first.

* * *

Now, as she stood face-to-face with him, he seemed farther away than ever before. More than distance separated them, that much was clear. Vera could feel his inner fire rising to the surface, furious and raw; seeking to be unleashed onto the world. His molten core burning hotter than ever, and no matter how easily she wanted to fall into his clutches, she knew he was not the man she once knew. He could be, but she could sense the change as easily as she could see them. It was woven into his very fabric now. To destroy, to maim, to kill. His hunger for power would never be sated while he was on this path. It turned him into something not wholly human. But she would not be cowed.

For though he had changed in their time apart, she fought to remember that she was not the child she once was either; even if she looked so on the outside. Her soul was nearly as worn and weary as his, at this point. His fracture from her had taken a piece of her as well. But though his soul was but a part of a whole, it was still a part no less. And she was as starved for emotion and gentle touch as a newborn, at this point.

On the inside, she felt as bereft as a dementor. Hungry for interaction, for feeling, and for his passion more than anything. But, it was like he was in a state of slumber. Lost and unable to feel the genuine sparks of pleasure and pain. A disconnect in between his mind and his heart. It caused him some amount of internal strife, for that much she could read behind his expression.

In fact, it was as she watched him that she discovered their mental defences still seemed to mirror each other, even when they did not. He seemed to fight himself, as much as she did herself. She knew the feelings her presence seemed to bring about, must be confusing to say the least. Nonetheless, watching him twitch in irritation at his gaps in memory seemed to amuse her endlessly. A sort of dark humor, they had once appreciated sharing; though she was certain he would not find any such laughter now. The pale blonde knew, as surely as he prided himself on maintaining his cool and collected mask, he must be rolling with agitation by now. Just as a snake would rear to retaliate against a perceived threat. Though, she wasn't decided whether he thought _she_ was the threat in that scenario. For both of their sakes, she hoped not.

But holding back the soft smile that threatened to curve upon her lips, proved far more difficult than she first thought. As she'd nearly forgotten what the soft pulling sensation felt like on one's cheeks. _A smile,_ she thought quickly, when her confusion over the bodily compulsion lifted. For she knew it would only proceed to irk him further. And while his temper was one of the things that she loved about him, she was wise enough to proceed with caution. For his wrath was not something she wished to incur, particularly when she felt his strengths were much better aimed elsewhere.

She also understood, she was about to undergo the immeasurable task of restoring one's memories. Something which confounded even the wisest of healers. It would be no simple task, nor would it be painless. Pulling thoughts from the mind, would be agonizing. She would need to reach the part of his subconscious which protected his most intimate of thoughts. It would be giving her power over his mind. Something she knew would seal her fate, should she fail. But even if she did, she did not know for certain what state of mind he would be in. But she refused to give in to that bastard's coup.

They could make her return to the wizarding world as public or as private as they wished, for she cared naught. As long as she succeeded in that which mattered most. The spineless pig would be hers. Hers to torture. Hers to kill when she wished it. Some of his followers might resist her influence, foolishly seeing her as weakness; But Vera had never considered herself anyone's weakness before, and she would not she now. For the blood of Salazar Slytherin ran through her blood, and generations before that Morgana herself. The one true Dark Lady.

She knew that if she were to succeed, she'd be forced to show dominance over his followers. Those who bore his mark, yet cowered before him. She would take their loyalty for her own, just as he had. Even those he held closest would fear her when she wished it. For there had not been a true Dark Lady since the time of Merlin, when Morgana ran free, and they would need to be reeducated into proper acknowledgement. For Voldemort would not help those who did not help themselves.

Tom Riddle might have fought to keep her sheltered, protected from the world's cruel touch, but he was not here at the moment. She would be on her own in this regard and she refused to accept defeat. She was heir of the Slytherin line, and a witch beyond the normal grade. She would need to be cruelly unforgiving in her commands, and while that didn't perhaps come as naturally as other talents, she'd would learn to embrace them. For to accept defeat would be to forget that which was taken from her.

While being one of the two last surviving heirs of Slytherin, she no doubt believed herself capable of the illusion. Even if these deceptive qualities best suited her brother, more so than herself. For even as a child, he'd always been able and willing to threaten or harm anyone that came near her. His affection was violent, just as all of his other passions manifested themselves. In extremes.

He was proud to protect her, and to call her his. Just as she was proud to be his, and to call him hers. If this was how she'd repay him, she would do it with pride. For that child, who grew into the man standing before her today, she would do anything. Her devotion was a feral thing, and she dearly hoped no innocents would be lost in the sidelines. Unnecessary bloodshed did not interest her, and she greatly feared what might happen if the magical ranks took too large of a hit. The magical community needed to be prepared for the attacks that would ensue, should they fail.

She would cling to that thought as she bared her soul, mind and heart to man who'd long since cast out any warmth to gain immortality. Someone, whom she would now have to coax his love from the ashes. Like a still burning ember found beneath the cooling top layer of white ash. Capable, as she was, to the growing fiendish flame she knew could very easily devour entire worlds.

Steeling herself, she pushed her shoulders back. Preparing herself to march into a different sort of battle. She righted herself in one fluid movement that seemed casual to the eye. It almost made it look as though internal affliction hadn't consumed her seconds before.

Passing her hand over her collarbone familiarly. Her lithe finger-tips caressed the carved moonstone, like one would a lover's skin. The gem was inlaid in a silver setting, surrounded by stark pearlescent ivory beading. Baubles which, upon closer inspection, one would realize were made of bone. Hand-carved with runes smudged into their depths. Something that had kept him with her, even through her time of mourning.

Unaware of the meaning behind her fixation on the necklace, the Dark Lord finally allowed his heated gaze to travel up the expanse of her neck. Where upon he found himself idling upon the lush curvature of her swollen lips. He inwardly preened at the deep red they'd turned after his aggressive attentions. However no matter how deeply pleased he was to see his mark upon her skin, he burned to see something far more _permanent_ grace her body. Illustrating his claim on her, explicitly. She would be an supremely useful weapon to add to his collection. Once he established his control over her, that was.

Her unimpressed pout, brought his eyes back to her milky depths.

" _See something you like, brother mine?"_ She saucily inquired. Inviting his eyes to scroll lazily back down to her bare feet, before answering.

" _Perhaps."_ He replied. _"I do endeavor to learn_ _all_ _of your secrets after all. Do you know of a better place to suss out one's lies?"_

" _Several."_ She announced loftily. " _Five such places come to my immediate recollection, however we do need to be getting on."_ Her task at hand pressing her to bypass their playful banter until another time. Though if the minute tightening around his jaw was anything to go by, she had succeeded in piquing his curiosity. But she continued on, as if she hadn't noticed.

" _The longer we tarry, the greater the risk of being found before the others are released from their cells. And while time moves slower here, I fear it is somewhat of the essence for your friends in the East Wing."_

She extended her hand out to him, palm up; awaiting his touch. Even though she had never seen this precise moment in time unfolding, she knew without her sight that he would take it without pause. It was just within his nature. For Slytherins were not the type to leave knowledge undiscovered. Especially when _her_ knowledge meant power.

And just as she predicted, Voldemort didn't waste time questioning how she could have instinctively known _which_ Death Eaters would be deemed worthy of freedom; in his eyes. Though to be honest, 'friends' were hardly what he'd call the lot of them. Friends, belied a sort of familiarity he could not allow himself. Nor did he wish to. Such feelings were only to be met with disappointment when he was inevitably betrayed. Nevertheless, he was not going to let her be disillusioned into thinking that which was between them, was in any manner _finished_.

In that moment, released from his magical binds that she'd forced upon him after his last remark, he stepped forward. Feet, all but grazing the floor in his haste. His tall frame loomed over hers. His black robes swishing around her body like a shadow seeking to eclipse her entire frame. Latching onto her forearm possessively, he hissed out lowly.

" _Oh sweet Vera, what's between us is far from_ _finished_ _."_ His feral grin flashed, giving her a mere glimpse of the danger that befell her, for catching his attention. Like a snake rearing to lash out and kill.

Her enhanced vision gave her the ability to see the discoloration flaring to life behind his eyes, as he leaned back to meet her gaze. The monster beneath his skin reached out, thrilled to show her exactly what Dark forces she dealt with. The monster beneath wanted her to see, that whomever she thought stood before her in that very moment, was not the young man she remembered.

Their arms twisted so vehemently around the each other's, like the most deadly of vines. One could have easily mistaken the entwined pair to have been binding themselves with the Vow. Permanently forging their words into the absolute. The magical promise in which the truth would bind, and betrayal would equal death.

Two means of submission neither magic user would allow to pass, ever again.

But instead of imbuing his words with the darkest of magic, he spoke his promise to her with the weight of the thousand lives which he would lead, with her by his side. As she was so very much _more_ than just a seer. For her inability to age as one should, had not escaped his watchful eye. He was altogether captivated by the sly tongued beauty.

Individually, her talents might seem intriguing, but wrapped together in such an ensnaring shell, he could not resist the urge to suss out every little secret. To dig beneath the surface and see just what little betraying thoughts floated about. She was but the sweetest of feasts, just within reach of his deadly fangs.

 _Mine,_ his thoughts encouraged silkily. She was the key to everything, both his past and future. He had no intention whatsoever in allowing her to escape.

Wrist to wrist; fingers clutching the other's arm in a tight bind. He breathed in her scent like it was life itself. He was exhilarated; in such a manner that made him feel young again. Powerful and carefree. Like he could not be ailed by defeat or disappointment.

All the while, her pulse fluttered like a wild bird, trapped beneath her skin. _Home,_ her body whispered beseechingly, nearly blinded by the ecstasy dripping from his shared touch. Lightning travelled through her veins, stronger than any Crucio she'd ever experienced at _his_ hands. But instead of agonizing pain, she felt ecstasy. She felt so filled by the power, she almost didn't realize the fear creeping beneath her senses. It was a gut-wrenching sensation she felt, that quickly turned painful. Physically, mentally, and magically feeling the effects the horcruxes had on his body. Her horror grew as she took in the sight of his mangled mind, and his maimed soul. It felt like her lungs had been ripped from her body, but she fought admirably to shutter her pain back. To keep her facade unfettered from judgement.

" _Now Sweet One, I believe you owe me a memory, and I've come to collect."_ He hissed lowly to her.

Neither looked away from the other, as wind whipped around them from displacement.

Without a sound, they had disappeared from one wing of the castle; reappearing as if they hadn't moved at all. Their clothes jostled around their bodies, but they remained unmoved. Interwoven, like two branches of Devil's Snare. Deadly and violent in its growth.

Her hissed reply was nearly caught on the wind, but he was only just able to make it out as they landed. Her parseltongue many tones lighter than his own. Fairer, just as she was, but no less steely.

" _Then one memory, you shall have."_

* * *

Between one heartbeat and the next, the pair had reached their destination. Each quickly regaining their bearings, standing in a room that was as black as pitch. The darkness surrounded them with warm familiarity, like a well worn cloak that protected its bearer from the cold. Their tightly wound limbs fell apart soon after; both eager to cease such intimate contact for entirely different reasons. They could feel the air vibrating with their joined magic and it was like breathing in the most addictive of opiates.

Voldemort felt increasingly inclined to take a step away from her intoxicating touch, but stoutly refused to give her any admission of weakness. He felt out of control, standing so close to her. It was as though he was falling under a compulsion of sorts. His magic wanted to wrap itself around her; as though he was Nagini and she, his prey.

Meanwhile, Vera fought desperately to maintain her indifference. She knew exactly what sort of addiction his touch fed. Simply being in contact with his magic alone, caused great discord within her soul. Their years apart had not touched the magnetism, she remembered all too well. But once she remembered their purpose for visiting this specific part of the castle, she was able to quell her ardor, if only infinitesimally.

" _Do you know where we are? We used to use this route to get to the boathouse, when we just wanted to get away."_ She asked cautiously, unaware of the exact parameters in which his memory loss could cover. He may remember certain events simply without her presence, but she was unsure how his warped his mind had twisted certain sequences of events. Even the smallest of pulls in the yarn, might weaken the tightly bound entrapments.

Hope bubbled up from her stomach without her permission at the mere idea of a recovered memory. No matter how insignificant it may be.

* * *

At her query, the Dark Lord surveyed his surroundings severely. His keen eyes were able to catch a glimpse of the ascending steps off to his right. Water rested on them, giving them a sheen for the light to reflect off of. The moving flickers of moonlight, while tenuous, gave him only the slightest of impressions as to where he stood. It appeared, that they were now in some sort of an abandoned stairwell; if the crumbling outer wall was anything to go by.

He could just barely make out the sight of the water leaking down the crevices in the walls curving around them. The moonlight reflected back off the trailing dark liquid, just as it would the Black Lake. He could certainly imagine it being a lesser known way down to the lake, for the water damage seemed to speak for itself. But still - he had no recollection of ever having stepped foot down this particular corridor.

Vera, seeming to realize he did not, continued quickly before his impatience grew. She sincerely hoped no others had managed to read his features as easily as she could. Their days of deception had after all, begun long before they'd entered the Slytherin common room. Living in the Orphanage had quickly taught them to polish their masks, unless they wished to be tasked with polishing the horribly cracked floors. Menial tasks, which they both believed to be beneath them. For each would much rather spend their time alone in the comforts of their shared bedroom; locked away where they could read quietly. For their intellectual capabilities far surpassed that of the other Muggle children their age.

Without intention, his burgeoning sneer faded as she spoke once more.

" _Behind us is the hidden entrance to the boat house's supply room. We used to hide there until we were sure the coast was clear. Found it in our second year, when that poltergeist had been lurking down in the dungeons."_ As she spoke, the Dark Lord felt his memories flutter. But like ripples passing over his remaining memories, he could not get a clear image to come forth no matter how hard he scoured his mind.

" _I had just been in the tunnels, walking with Sashir. It used to calm me. We'd just had a row, and I wanted to make it right; but then I'd heard him. Through the grate in the Transfigurations classroom. Whispering about forbidden things. Things no Light wizard had any need to practice. I knew something wasn't right._ _He_ _wasn't right. Not correct on the inside,"_ she said fiercely pointing at her temple, _"I came to find you, but I he got to me first. He knew I was watching and that I was listening. Like he could_ _feel_ _me watching him."_

His inquisitive stare narrowed, watching her relive every second of her horror. Vera felt her heart start to pound, as she relived the memory. She began twisting her hands in anxiety; eager to leave this place once and for all. It's salty rancor burned her nose.

" _I'm up there."_ She murmured haltingly, looking everywhere but at him. Her breathing now coming in quick stuttering inhales as disgust dominating her features. The memory shuddered in and out of focus, as if he'd misaligned two photo negatives on top of each other.

" _I'm afraid you'll have to go up alone, until I can stabilize."_ And just as the words had fallen from her lips, she closed her eyes to concentrate. The memory started to fade back into focus as she fought her emotions. Her fists clenched as she clawed for some modicum of control.

" _Go, quickly now. I can hold it off."_ Her jaw tensed, and she practiced her slow breathing. _In and out. In and out._ Until finally the memory began to right itself. The flickering ceased for all but a few shivers here or there.

High above, he could hear something shifting around; causing the moonlight to jump around frantically. What he'd first assumed to be no more than a trapped bird, flailed around at the topmost rafters some hundred feet stone walls seemed to tremble, as if hit by a powerful explosive charm. The quake, sent dust and grime falling down into the shaft below. Voices could be heard up above.

It was at that moment that Vera grasped his hand firmly in hers. Her fear climbing up her throat, as she heard _his_ foul voice on the wind. She knew her brother wouldn't be able to see anything from their vantage point, but when he got closer, he'd need a little more light. So, closing her eyes, she lowly chanted a few words. The words had barely fell from her lips, when the air hummed; her magic fighting off the pitch black cloak that smothered the light.

The stairs lightened, as if it were barely sundown, instead of midnight. No matter, for it was just enough that he could make his way up the steps with ease. The Dark Lord's eyes only left her form for a second, before returning. The words she'd chanted weren't any spell he'd ever heard of. They were guttural, much as an ancient language would be. As if she'd commanded the darkness to fall. Around them, the air still seemed to tremor at her words. He was _very_ interested to learn what sort of magic that was.

As she opened her starlit orbs once more, he was certain he'd seem them swim with something _other._ Her milky depths gleamed for just a moment with an ice cold intelligence, that could just as easily curse you, as aid as he remembered unicorn's blood once had. Those predator instincts buried inside his new form, came alive with unease.

He wondered just how deep her connection with the Other side ran. Her gifts made her a weapon, but to what end would she be used, he wasn't entirely sure. _She could be a threat,_ he mused. _Perhaps I'll keep her closer for that reason._

For while he knew Magic was a fickle thing to try to manipulate, he would need to seduce her against leaving his side. Her magic did not bleed as Dark as his did. And while she was indeed resilient, he deduced she could still be lured away . There was something _Grey_ about her magic. He would need to win her loyalty, bind her soul back to his. But still - he could not silence the whispering in the back of his mind. _Let no harm befall her. She is like us. Make her ours._ He did not knew what he try thought of his inner serpent's tongue.

Her voice held strong as she added, _"I'll be waiting, when you've seen enough."_

Her words seemed to hold quite a bit more sentimentality than he was used to, but he fought his aversion; knowing that her emotions could be wielded against her, at a later date. For as distant as she seemed, he was certain she was hiding things from him. What, he couldn't say. But as he climbed those first few steps, ever vigilant to the poor state the steps appeared to be in, he mused over what sort of things he might witness above.

Vera remained as still as death, down below. She almost dared not to breathe as she watched his ascension. The stairs crumbled, as if trying to make him rethink his course of actions, but never once did he fail to right himself. Her mouth quirked up in a saddened mockery of a smile, as she wondered how he _thought_ he'd learned to use his magic for balance. He seemingly floated up the steps effortlessly. His feet finding purchase on even the most unforgiving of steps, causing her to grin weakly.

She had barely managed to traverse the halls of the Orphanage with her disability, before she was accepted into Hogwarts. Not having been born with such ailments, had truly caused her to feel off-balance.

She had become so clumsy and injured herself so frequently, that Tom had barely let her leave his line of sight. He doted on her even when she wanted to prove herself capable. Leading her to go so far as to make trips down to the kitchens, when Tom was called away by Mrs. Cole. Her missions were successful, until she'd been knocked into by one of the other children, causing her to lose her balance down the stairs. In a self-preservative instinct, her magic had roared to life. It steadied her, made her safe, just like her brother's arm had done so many times before.

It was almost like having her vision back once again, for her magical sixth sense never left her after that day. She'd shown Tom how to bring it forth that very evening; eager to share her knowledge. Giving him a playful sisterly push off the bed with her shoulder, which had tipped him over onto his back. He managed to cushion his landing for a few seconds with his magic, before dropping onto the hard floors.

Righting himself with more than a few curses and grumbles over her methods. He never had to say thanks to her, because looking back, she knew he thanked her. For whenever she tripped or skipped a step, he made sure to subtly guide her back to rights. Using only the lightest of magical touches, in hopes she wouldn't notice; he made her feel slightly more accomplished. Until, that is, she realized _what_ the warm sensation was, melding with her own magic.

 _Like I couldn't differentiate between his magic and my own,_ she thought tersely, before falling into melancholia.

The loss of their connection burned her more than anything. For she knew it would never be as fluent at reading another's. What was lost, was lost forever. Feeling his soul fragment, was like feeling the sun's warmth through a glove. She mourned his loss, even if he did not.

* * *

As he continued onward, his steps grew fleeting and quick. Silent, like the way he would travel through the castle through the secret passageways he'd long since memorized. He paid attention to the dips and weak places to avoid, just as he once had. Every side-step and double step seemed to carry them closer to the source of the light.

While he made quick work of the tedious stairs, Vera drew in one slow calming breath after another; hoping to banish that tight sensation from her chest. She likened the sensation to feeling one's lungs collapse, repeatedly. Something which made her feel helpless and so inconceivably - angry.

Forging on, she began to feel that age old anger make it's way to the surface, causing her jaw to clench tightly. Her every shred of control went into not shredding the memory; however the urge for vengeance enveloped her, making her wish to see someone bleed for her pain. _Pain. So much pain._

 _Alas_ , she reminded herself, _we do not seek to harm him, nor see him come to harm's way_. He is ours and we are his. _It is_ _he_ _who will suffer for what he did_ , she vowed. _Make him weak. Make him bleed. Make him pay._

She was only shaken out of her innermost thoughts by the blue light emitting from the landing. It was so weak, she nearly sobbed when it faded away. Her heart clenched at the sight. Then the screams came.

* * *

Voldemort couldn't say what he had just seen. There was a cracking sound, like someone had stepped on a branch. Followed by a brief wisp of a light. Almost like a child's first attempt at the Lumos charm. It was laughable. He could barely understand why someone would cast such a spell for any defensive purpose. If the cries were anything to judge, he very much doubted it'd worked.

His appetite to uncover all of her little secrets took hold of him so unequivocally, he let his feet guide him. It was only when they neared the last few steps onto the landing that he heard the voice.

It was the gruff drawl that set his every sense on fire. Hatred bloomed in his chest, for he knew the voice could belong to none other than _Albus Dumbledore_. The man who had despised him from the very first time he'd set his thrice-damned twinkling eyes upon him. He loathed the very sight of him, but nonetheless, the sound of his raspy voice was more than enough to bring a murderous hunger to his eyes. Their hatred was a mutual understanding between the two. For there was nothing that would bring such a warmth to the heart of one, like the demise of the other.

Dumbledore looked furious. His menacing sneer morphed his features quite grotesquely. He had never seen such rage, such madness in his eyes. Not even after he had turned the half-witted oaf, Hagrid in to the Board of Governors, after the girl had been killed. _Myrtle had been her name_. The fool had fought hard to keep the halfbreed from Azkaban. Letting it known, to anyone who would listen, that there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. _He'd always seen through my perfect veneer. Analyzing my every move, as if I'd reveal my true self to him. The Muggle-loving pillock._

As he climbed that last step, Voldemort hissed in a breath; unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. But if his eyes had deceived him, as had his other more keen senses. The bittersweet smell of freshly spilled blood covered the floor. Dancing across his tongue, much in the way a snake could taste his prey's blood in the air.

 _Blood, so much blood._

Burgundy rivulets painted nearly every the surface in the room. Walls, once a pale stone hue, now were covered in gore and blood. The landing was flooded, and it was in that moment that Voldemort realized what the dripping sound was. It was her blood that was falling down into the lower depths of the shaft.

What must have been every ounce of blood in her body, had to have been spilt at least six times over. There was no measure of doubt in his mind that she should have been dead. Yet there her body laid, practically swimming in her own blood. Chest heaving as it healed itself, by no earthly means.

No blood replenishing potion could act that fast, nor heal such intrusive wounds. Her skin tinged pink once more, before her eyes shot open in a pained gasp. Before looking around frantically. Grasping both hands on her chest, she searched herself for gaping wounds, that no one could find.

" _What sorcery is this, you filthy little half-blood? Been sniffing around the Restricted Section, have we? There is no potion that can save you from this! You_ _will_ _die by my hand tonight. CRUCIO!"_

His booming laughter chafed the Dark Lord's ears painfully. It was a laugh Voldemort had never heard before, a sickeningly raw laugh.

The Dark Lord watched as she writhed and screamed out, before biting her forearms and wrists to silence herself. Her own teeth causing even more blood to spill, as he began to inflict curse after curse on her flesh. Each one worse than the last, only no dark curse would stick. It would carve itself into her skin, only to slide right off seconds later alongside droplets of her magical life's blood.

But just as her screams had died off, they picked back up when Dumbledore began ripping her skin from her back. So eager he now was to have her confess how she'd defied Death, not once but time and time again.

" _Concede, you need not fight it."_ The auburn haired wizard said ever so convincingly, like he could trick her into revealing her her forget just how much pleasure he'd achieved from her suffering.

" _Just give in. Let death take you, before I finally make you truly_ _wish_ _for death. There's more than one way to break a woman."_ He released a cackle as he moved to kick her regenerating feigned persona falling to the wayside, just as soon as it had come.

When the floor quaked beneath their feet once more, as she glared up at him; his gleeful laughter was all that was heard. But just as he made to physically molest her, she spit back onto him, all the blood and saliva she could summon. Covering his face, in filth. Her eyes seeking to burn her attacker from the inside out as she gritted her teeth in anguish. Her once lustrous blonde locks hung down in wet sheets, framing her cheeks dramatically. The carmine hue clung to the pale haired beauty as though she'd sought to dye it a bath of blood.

Screams fell from her lips as he cursed her once more, torturing her as though it brought him the greatest amusement in the world. The strength of his spells alone caused her to be thrust back into the floor, when the next onslaught came. Her spine found itself arching off the floor in pain. Her body, some morbid twist in the shape of the crescent moon.

The spell danced brightly off the end of his repeatedly notched wand, curving violently into her direction. His movements practiced and brutal in their precision. What must have been molten fire, by the sound of her cries, had to have been slowly seeping into her veins, until she faded into the beyond once more.

But it would seem she wasn't quite through yet. Her body continued to bind itself back together, once, twice, and again. As if it could continue to do so infinitely. She had magically found some way to cheat Death, and the Dark Lord could not help but gaze on in awe.

He was quite resilient to Death's _call_. But _this_... this was what being truly immortal was. He sought to possess it, with no limitations hindering him for all that he found himself yearning for. _Immortality_ , _her_ , _and everything in between_. He wanted it _all_.

* * *

Minutes stretched, as time seemed to fade. But her executioner seemed determined to punish her for her defiance. As it went on even Voldemort himself began to feel irritable. The Dark Lord didn't know how much more she would be subjected to, but he feared he was reaching his limit. He had always been curious what sort of torture methods others wielded at their mercy, but this - this was something alien to him. Never had he felt disgusted by another's pain. Her suffering caused him to choke back some unknown emotion. He likened it to how he felt for his familiar, Nagini. She was so very useful to him. So very - dear to him. She was strong; resilient. As was the witch attempting to shudder her pain away before him.

 _How very,_ he paused mid thought. Thinking of the correct word, for how he felt. _Curious? No, remarkable. Unimaginably_ _useful_ _was what it was!_ His thoughts travelled from one tangent to the next before something slipped out from between his almost didn't realize he'd spoken it aloud. _"Beautiful."_ The word fell from his lips seemingly on it's own accord, echoing in his ears and stopping him dead.

After a few heartbeats, his mind shuddered the word back away. Steadily whittling away at any magical formula that could explain her incapacity to let death take her. Unsure if he could even ask the question that tried to escape. _No, not a horcrux. She's regenerating. It's flawless magic. The very second one body part shuts down in death, her magic nourishes it back to full health._ He furrowed his brow in rigorous contemplation. _Channelling pure magic alone without being diluted by spell or wand. It's completely unheard of. One would not be able to harness it, without perishing. It would be like channelling a strike of lightning through the body, only the bolt never ceased. It constantly charged through her own like she was a turbine. A rune would work, but to accomplish it with this much power, it would need to be anchored somewhere of infinite power..._

He was so lost in thought, he didn't hear her step up beside him.

" _It wasn't a rune."_ She said, causing him to whip his gaze toward her. _"In fact it wasn't my doing at all. It was more like a series of unfortunate events that lead me to being right_ _here_ _on_ _this_ _night. Fate led me to being right where I was supposed to be. It's all a part of the plan."_

Her voice, he decides, is the only thing calm in the room for he certainly doesn't feel calm. Though he doesn't think she should be feeling rather calm inside either. It was almost as if she were embodying the phrase ' _The calm before the storm_ '. Witnessing one's trauma could not be cohesive with a healthy mind. If she continuously watched this over and over, for nearly half a decade, he wondered how she had anything left remotely stable about her.

" _Do you find it curious, how he manages to pull only certain pieces and parts from my body without harming my other organs? I'm not sure, myself. It's a bit difficult to not be biased. But there_ is _a good deal of things one can do with harvested human organs."_

She says this without so much as a twitch, as her milky orbs take in the scene dispassionately. Airily, almost as if she was discussing the weather.

" _If he's been studying my anatomy, he'll have quite the head start on us. Who knows what he plans to do. Maybe he's left something behind, like a trail of breadcrumbs from the stories they used to tell us at Wool's."_ She says rather breezily, however it was after a moment's consideration, she narrows her eyes and adds, _"I think it lacks a certain - passion. Don't you?"_

She continued rather decidedly on that train of thought. Completely unaware of the diagnosis he was currently performing concerning her mental stability, or lack thereof. He's never been submitted to anything close to this amount of agony. Neither unto himself or another. He wonders if she's a bit- unhinged because of it, but then casts his eyes back to the mending flesh reappearing before his very eyes. Her body takes on a sort of glow. It emits from her skin, like her magical core is emitting light from the inside, out. _Here comes the Sun,_ he thinks in utter fascination as she begins to awaken once more.

Suddenly, before his very eyes, she lays there completely whole. Looking as peaceful as if she had just closed her eyes. It is when the light of a dozen fires, when she finally opens her opalescent eyes. Pale and beautiful, as she whispers: "Again."

The Transfigurations professor draws closer, wand twisting between his nimble fingers. His black robes casting a darker look about the professor in the dying light.

" _What was that mein schatz?"_ He spoke looking down at her body, for she made no attempt to get up.

The offhanded endearment caused Voldemort to move closer to the wizard, leaving Vera to stand alone by the steps. He moved in on him, like a snake making his final strike. But when he dared to glare into the soulless eyes of her abuser and his own personal tormentor, something wasn't quite right. His eyes didn't have the same twinkling gleam, he'd grown so used to despising. It was like staring into the eyes of the dead. They seemed flat, like they had no life left in them. Altogether, his blue eyes seemed rather - darker. Like something else what looking out at him.

" _I said AGAIN, you kraut bastard. More, because I will outlast you."_ She hissed defiantly.

" _Very well,"_ he clapped his hands together with glee, seeming overjoyed to witness that their time together would continue. _"I must applaud you on your stamina. You're vigor is something one rarely gets the opportunity to truly appreciate; and how I do enjoy making you suffer."_ His eyes took on a devilish gleam to them that told Voldemort exactly how enthusiasm, the swine had for the topic.

" _In fact, Albus has told me all about the bad things you do. Truly, with your own sibling? My, my we_ _have_ _been a bad girl. Should I take some pieces from him too? Is he special like you?"_ He pried, burning a dark curse across her chest from the left shoulder, all the way down to the right hip bone.

" _Tell me, does he_ _know_ _what you can do?"_ He stared intently on her face, not expecting any response from her pain, but it was only after she mumbled something incoherent, he drew closer. The man seemed to be amused, if not a little _irritated_ by the fact that she still remained willful. Still had the strength despite all that he had subjected onto her. _"Should I ask him?"_

" _Try all you might, but I will_ _never_ _give into you. Sniveling guttersnipes like yourself that use others to do their bidding don't deserve spines at all. For your mind is as weak as a Muggle's and you lack any creativity at all. Been doing this long, tripe?"_ She spit out at him, while forcing a deranged laugh through her still-healing vocal cords.

" _Hold your tongue wench. I can only stand so much of your mewling voice before I want to carve out your vocal cords"_ He grins anew.

" _But more importantly, let's talk about how very much I despise the way you look at me. How those nasty little blind orbs follow me when I enter the room, it sickens me! How about I relieve you of them. Hmm? Excellent. Let's get started then."_

This man, if you could call him that, Voldemort decided, was about to regret the day he first took his breath on this earth. Lord Voldemort would smile as he ripped flesh from his still-living carcass.

* * *

Voldemort was sure the wet sound of her damaged eyes being taken from her body, would stay with him for years to come. He watched this wizard's barbaric treatment of this witch with absolute fury, though he did not give one second's thought to turning away. He wanted to know exactly how the savage had done it so he could, ensure that he would receive no lesser it was when the man's fingers ripped her orbs from their home, Voldemort knew he was no better than a Muggle in that moment. For no matter how regenerative her magic may have made her, the pain she felt had been real. There was no denying that. He had broken a piece of her mind when he mutilated her like a Muggle toy.

" _They really were the only thing that marred your beauty."_ This vile masquerader had said before standing and magically cleansing himself. Looking no worse for wear than if they'd spied the professor taking a stroll through the castle. Barely sparing a second to admire his own handiwork, he cast a quick _Tempus_ before preparing to take his leave.

" _Sadly, I'm going to have to cut our time short tonight. Tom's just about to finish those nightly rounds isn't he? I'd hate to miss him. He'll be looking for you, but I have a feeling his memory won't quite be what it was."_ This said just as he prepared to exit back through the dungeons, where he would no doubt initiate his attack on a much younger Dark Lord; she found the will to speak, clearly so that he would have no doubt of her words. Fighting the haze that tried to completely incapacitate her while she healed from such a trauma, she vowed:

" _He will_ _destroy_ _you. And only then, will you know what a true Dark Lord is."_ Her hatred fueled and pulsing magic deep within her veins. Slowly, she rose until she was standing once more. Cackling sinisterly at his failure, as she would continue to do with each and every attempt he made, persisting through whatever her tormentor dared to inflict upon her. This man, spineless enough as he was to attack her, didn't have the power it took to break her. She knew with certainty that when Tom found out about him, about what had occurred, he would avenge her. One way or another; that much she held no doubt of. Her laughter was glorious in its mockery of him.

It was the sound that truly sent her tormentor over the edge, taunting him with the product of the insanity he cast upon her, because he ripped his wand from his sleeve and cast the only curse in the world that would irrevocably end someone's life. The one curse you could not block with any form of magic. The words left his vile tongue with such agility, she never had a chance to move from its desired path. It hit her cleanly in the chest, constricting upon her flesh and magic with it's effect. Burning through the remnants of her tattered blouse, scorching flesh, and striking her dead. The force sent her through the only window allowing any moonlight in at all.

As the glass was blasted out, shrapnel littered her skin further with red ribbons. Soaring down onto the cliff's edge below, her body cut through the air with the precision of a blade. It was when Voldemort stood at the window, shoulder to shoulder next to her attacker, he could only watch regretfully as she hit the ground. The move seemed to be faster than any spell that had been released from his own wand over the years and he somehow felt hopeless after he almost immediately recalled that he could do naught but watch.

A thousand sounds seemed to accompany her descent, but when she made contact with the ground with a heartbreaking thud, only silence was left to permeate the cool night air. Blood rushed through his ears at the sight. It felt just as it did when he discovered the loss of his diary, all over again. Less than whole; knowing somewhere he had lost a piece of himself.

Rocks pierced through her flesh. Bones protruded from her skin. Limp, like a worn doll needing to be tossed into the rubbish bin. The Dark Lord was deathly quiet, as he gazed out fiercely over the cliffs. His jaw clenched, and his eye twitched; a most dangerous gleam sweeping cleanly across his visage.

And yet, there at his other shoulder, she stood taller than ever. Looking out toward the night sky, she was whole once more. Her white dress, untouched and shining brightly under the moonlight. Her ivory-hued skin, glowed like the finest of bone china. Only he knew she couldn't be broken so very easily. She stood at his side, causing the most glaring differences to appear before his eyes. His, dressed in only the darkest shades of black; drawing all light from the world around him. Her, swathed in the finest of white silk; seemingly charmed to be impervious to wear. Both standing like demented spirits from another lifetime.

It was with finality that he reached for her hand, encapsulating it in his larger one. No looks, nor words were shared, but in that moment nature had finally found a way to correct itself. Her fingers weaved between his own, claiming his hand just as he had hers. A silent vow was made and a war had begun. For the very second their magic intertwined like two of the lovers of old, Light and Dark ceased to exist. An age-old battle would be fought under new lines. For the final rise of Grindelwald was just beginning.

Voldemort did not remember being raised or taught with this witch. Nor could he concretely prove their familial bond, without a blood test being performed. But here, on this very night, she was his kin. She was a daughter of Salazar in spirit, if nothing else. She was a weapon. She was an ally. But he could not ignore those three words that his magic tried so desperately to tell him. _She is ours._

 _Mine._

He would use this to ignite a war. No man, woman, or child; Muggle or wizard-kind alike would not be safe until he was wiped from this plane. This night, the hunt began. The hunt for a Dark Lord, long thought to be rotting away in his cell in Nurmengard. For the wizard who stole the body and thoughts of his greatest enemy would suffer for his interference. Suffer for his attacks on a child.

But he did not forget his other task. For he would also see Albus Dumbledore die for his weakness of the mind. As even the strongest of wills, had the ability to resist the Imperius if they truly made it so. Other dark curses could be fought similarly; possession and the like. It was one of the great many things he'd learned during his journeys to the African continent. Dark magic was different there. Older, more primordial in nature. Power of will could outlast even the strongest of opponent. For while magic had a way of manipulating those around it, he also knew it could be guided back into the hand of the worthy. If one simply, asked for it.

" _We need to leave. The Aurors will be here at any moment."_ She stated with urgency housed within her tone, _"As will Albus Dumbledore."_

" _Does he know?"_ He whispered waspishly. _"Does the real Albus Dumbledore know what he has done?"_

" _I will not know until I can make contact."_ She replied. _"But I believe I can bring forth his traveller. Force him to face us. Revealing his treachery."_ She tugged him from the memory completely. Pushing him back into his own body, from her wind picked up, just as the thunder deafened their ears as the accompaniment of lightning cast jaggedly across the sky.

" _I read his magical signature when he laid his hands on me."_ She admitted through gritted teeth, as if she just revealed a well kept secret. It was one that he had known himself, thought he instilled upon her mind that she were never to admit such things in the company of others; lest they attempt to use her for her gifts. However it was here, now… for the first time in years; she felt whole beside her brother. The other side of her in which she longed for, and it was within his presence that she dared to hope. Dared to dream, to love… to scheme and pull forth the wrath that built within her after all these years, leaving her face as cold as the stone around them even as fire blazed within her heart. _"He'll not be able to resist the pull. I'm sure of it."_

Every memory he took, every drop of blood he spilled, and every year he has lived unpunished, would be brought down upon him tenfold. _Gellert Grindelwald, you revolting excuse for a wizard, this is the year you die._ Of that she knew, she counted upon it. She would die trying, for if her memory proved anything at all, it was that she was rather adverse to the idea.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Happy Friday everyone! Hope you all have had a great last few weeks! I know there've been a couple of reviewers who were **really** hoping for that next update, but I don't think you were ready for anything **this** substantial. It was something I struggled with, but no matter how I chopped it, it just kept growing in length! So I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and that I'll hear from you all. You were the reason I chopped it down from 29 pages to 4. I wanted - no I **needed** to get it right for you guys. As I'm finishing up, we're clocking in at around 42 pages (13k words!)

Did you like it? What sort of questions have I shook loose? Is you starting to see the bigger picture? Something big is coming, and it's going to bring together the Light and Dark! Though it will by no means be a completely peaceful accord. Are you all ready? Who're some people (good/bad) you'd like me to include? And secondly, are you all ready to see her in fighting form?! It's coming!

Lastly and most importantly, I need to give all the love in the world out to **WarriorHime53**. She is my eyes, when mine are ready to fall out of my head. Her tenacious encouragement is what keep me motivated to do better. I love showing her what sort of rabbit hole I went down the previous night. And believe me, anything you write at 3am, while in a near lucid dreaming state **is a rabbit hole.** Girlfriend, you are the Watson to my Sherlock; the muscles of the operation. I could not have done it without you. You keep me (moderately) sane, when I'm in a Bellatrix of a mood. I cannot wait to tear out another chapter of The Monster Within with you. And if you all haven't checked it out, what are you waiting for!

Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6- Flight of the Betrayed Part 1

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

 _A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

 _No Copyright Infringement Intended_

 _All rights belong to JK Rowling_

 _As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

 _Furthermore, I've made a few changes to canon which will become apparent further on in the story, so please keep an open mind. They're just some changes that I thought would spice the story up a bit. I appreciate all of your reviews & follows immensely, so please don't be afraid to drop me a line or two. What did you like? What don't you like? How can I improve the story? Let me know! _

**Chapter Six:**

When Lord Voldemort finally opened his eyes, they were so filled with wrath that his irises took on a crimson-like glow. Evidence that the beast within had begun to awaken. Jaw clenched in anguish, his tightly gripped control slipped further and further out of hand. His aura lashed out at those closest to him, targeting all but _her_. In that moment, he wanted to make another feel pain; pain beyond any he'd ever endured or dispensed before. Every part of his brutalised soul yearned for it. Demanded it.

Torrential waves of pure darkness burst forth from the inner depths of his magical core. Shaking the ground beneath their feet, as thunder roared from the storm overhead. The air ignited off her skin at the mere sight of her sibling's poisonous fury. A mere taste, she knew, of the formidably dark power that lie within. Resting, as it had been, like the great beasts of old, until it could truly quench its thirst for blood. He was starved for it. So with a gasping release of his true power, the Earth quaked beneath his feet. A flare of magic that seemed to shake half the island, from its force.

It was all in the name of the woman standing before him. The one who remained unharmed even though his most delirious state of madness. His magical assault spawned from the countless injustices they had underwent. The pain and utter loneliness they had each been forced to withstand, while the one who deceived them so bitterly had lived free. But even through his soul's gasping cry for death, to be the divining rod by which such a punishment would be meted out, he still held back. Her eyes understanding what only they knew. As intimate a truth as it was, for even his closest of followers had no idea what he was _truly_ capable of. How tightly he bound the beast within, for fear that he'd one day lose his carefully sought after control.

Within the truest of depths, dwelled a creature so vicious and unforgiving that he could bathe in the blood of his father without remorse. A monstrous entity that had lurked underneath his carefully constructed exterior for as long as he had lived, whether it be the visage of the man or this hybrid of man and serpent. An inhuman gleam, that appeared in his obscure eyes only during his strongest of emotions. Those which sought to be filled by only the darkest of fantasies. Ones he'd yet to show this vile world. The likes of which would, one day, send Grindelwald quivering back into the shadows, when Death chased him down like the dog that he was.

His outburst quickly had begun to drop the already cold temperatures on the isle to below freezing. With every breath, came with it a sharp and knife-like sensation of cool metal penetrating one's very lungs. The air was both heavy and visible upon the lips of his Death Eaters, becoming clear that they had already begun to suffocate underneath the sheer pressure that he was creating. Panic ran clear through their minds, filling their veins with ice. His magic, acting like a plague to their own, killing them from the inside out. Ripping the very life from their decrepit bodies. Their organs began to collapse from sheer pressure, as the bleeding began from their eyes and noses. But the sound of their bodies collapsing on the ground did nothing to stem his anger, nor did their echoing pleas for mercy. He despised their willingness to show such weakness, even if it was to him.

She called out to him, to no avail for her voice drowned, beneath the rising winds. Rage had thrown him out of darkness of her mind, and into his own. There, he fell further into the abyss; into the all-encompassing void that numbed the senses. He floated through the darkest of spaces, disembodied completely. There was only the color of pitch. Here, there was no light.

Only cognizant of his own thoughts, he drowned in their overwhelming nature. Deception. Betrayal. Pain. He felt them all, mixing haphazardly within. The treachery behind Gellert Grindelwald's duplicity would not go unpunished. He insulted him, by not simply killing them both when they were younger. Did Grindelwald not _know_ who exactly the boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle would become? Or did he watch with malicious glee as he shattered Tom's mind? Knowing all the while, that he had laid the groundwork for the world's most vicious Dark Lord yet. The possibility that he'd been manipulated into action hit him like a well placed Cruciatus _._ Burning his insides, at the mere thought.

Acid flushed through his veins as he wondered, if ever he'd ever had any choice in the matter. Was he just a pawn in a far grander game; deceptively fed the ripest of lies, while being led to the slaughter? To what ends did Grindelwald mean to see his plans come to fruition? What lengths would he seek to see _her_ back in his own grasp? She who had made the swine feel so unworthy to so much as breathe the same air. He knew that the wizard would not be so lenient as to leave her somewhere so unguarded next time. If he was to get his filthy hands on her once more, she would be forever at his mercy; or at least until he discovered just what it was that made her continue to tick. For once he had found the source, he would surely seek to steal it, or at the very least bleed it out of her until she lived no more. A thought that stole the marrow from his bones.

Underestimating him. Stealing that which belonged to him. Those were crimes which one might have lost their life over. The disrespect fed a righteous flame deep in the pit of his stomach. His pride, ferociously salivating at the idea of retribution. The sheer fact that his Dark predecessor had ripped his mind asunder by removing his soul's mate; _infuriated_ Lord Voldemort beyond any rational thought. For him to toss him back broken, bleeding, and feral in his soul's desperation; without even a care for retribution, told him Grindelwald felt unthreatened by any promise of vengeance. His beast bared his deathly fangs at the hit to his pride. Everything in him wanted to bathe in the blood of his enemy. From his viperous tongue to his stone cold grip around his wand, he was ready to kill. And kill him he would, even if he had to destroy every witch or wizard whose bodies he had stolen, to chase him into his own. Now, Lord Voldemortwas the hunter, and he the prey.

He, whom had come from such meager beginnings. He who had claimed the Wizarding World as his own! He'd given himself a new name. One worthy. One that the people of the Magical World would remember for generations. His devotion to the Dark Arts rivalled none but Morgana herself! Lord Voldemort was not the weak child, Grindelwald had last encountered. Now, he found himself standing vigilant on the battlefield. His opponent, a Dark Lord whose fall had shaken much of Europe at the time of his childhood. It had been said that the once powerful Gellert Grindelwald had been banished to live out the rest of his days imprisoned, in the very place he'd hoped to one day reign from. Dethroned by none other than _Albus Dumbledore_! He spat at the very thought of the withering old fool.

Whether his original body indeed resided in the prison known as Nurmengard, Voldemort planned to uncover. He very well doubted he would find any trace of the man, especially with as secure as the Ministry wanted the public to think they were. He'd long since given up on that bloody laugh of an institution, but if there was one thing they did right, it was a cover-up. He, himself had benefitted from their obstinacy to admit fault. Between their conniving secrets and The Daily Prophet's ripe hunger for a mere trickle of scandal, the two had quite the symbiotic relationship. The thought of which nauseated him immensely. _The disgraceful fools._

The Ministry's weakness concerning Muggle and Muggle-born sympathizers, had given Grindelwald his platform to begin with. If there was truly no blood already in the water, then the grindylows wouldn't have been gathering just beneath the tide. No, the Ministry was just at fault as Grindelwald's followers, for their inaction against blood-traitorous fools like Dumbledore, was just another step into oppressing their very own people. Only, the British Wizarding Community had not sat back and simpered like the Americans had under MACUSA. They had gathered under a cause they supported for the greater good, and pieces were lost under Grindelwald's regime. But now, a different opponent approached the board, and Voldemort planned to rally and lead the remaining pieces into battle. No matter where they had once stood on the board.

However one thing he knew for certain, was that an enemy watched from afar through the eyes of others. He laid hidden underneath the shed skin of another, moving ever closer in his camouflage, until the enemy was close enough to strike the killing blow. Any trust Voldemort had for those followers he closely surrounded himself with, vanished the moment he realized any number of them could have been spying for another Lord of the Dark. For he had no doubt whatsoever in his mind, that Grindelwald had in fact truly released his hold of the Magical Realm all these years. And Voldemort would not rest until he conquered and killed all that stood in his path.

But through this all, Albus Dumbledore stood as ominous as ever. A second opponent, whose presence riled every vengeful bone in his body. For Voldemort could never truly turn his back to the Lord of Light. It was because of Dumbledore's prejudiced negligence, that he had been left to rot in that Muggle infested orphanage! And if the pale beauty's words bore any measure of truth, it was by _his_ very own hand that something so essential as _family,_ was taken from him!

 _Family_ , he thought with an astounding edge pounding within his blood, as his mind had begun to positively shudder within the disquiet that engulfed him. From within the almost shrouding decay that that had become of Salazar Slytherin's lineage, he had now come to discover that he was not as alone as he'd thought he was beforehand. Before him, stood someone that invoked strange stirrings within him, as both her mind and the truth of who she claimed to be unfolded before his eyes.

It brought upon such a sense of inquisitiveness. He wasn't sure he would even understand the emotions attached, wayward to anything he had ever felt before in his life, though real all the same. One thing he did know, above all else that mattered at the moment, was that _she was his_. Just as surely as he held his remaining horcruxes, those last few pieces of himself that needed to be protected at any cost. He could already feel his magic claiming her as his; and much like everything that he regarded as his, he discovered himself to be possessive when it came to her. But above all, _protective._

So to him, it mattered naught whether the withered old fool was aware of the deceiver's actions. For they, as children of Hogwarts, were under his care. _His_ weakness allowed _their_ home to be compromised. _He_ had made their home unsafe. When _his sister_ closed her eyes every night, it was _his_ visage that haunted her dreams. Dumbledore's hands had mutilated her body, and while Grindelwald animated him into action, it was still their old Transfigurations professor's skin that touched her own. And for such violent actions done unto a child, could never be forgiven.

Nor could they be forgotten.

He was not some toy to be discarded whenever someone thought they were through. No, he was _not_ someone to be used. Furthermore it mattered naught to him whom this thief was beneath the mask he wore, Dark Lord or not, there was a debt to be paid; and he planned to collect in full. Rage pounded within him as his bloodlust rose; Voldemort's crimson orbs glinted as behind them his brilliant, devious mind set to work. With the knowledge that he had gained, he would not allow himself to be blindsided again. It was in this moment that he remembered once again that knowledge was power. To rise victorious above the ones that attempted to overpower you, and then make them all regret for ever acting on such a thought.

* * *

" _Come back to me."_ Her words were like a cooling balm to his fiery wounds, whistling clearly through the roaring din inside his mind. Nothing except her voice could quell his boiling rage from completely overtaken him; and while he found it to be shocking that she held such a firm hold over him, it somehow felt right all the same. As if she was the missing part of him that he hadn't realized until now was gone and given the turn of events, it seemed likely that it was exactly so. She had spoken to him in the language of snakes, the one that only _they_ understood, effectively capturing the attention of the predator lurking beneath his skin. She somehow knew his rational mind was beyond reason; overwhelmed by the predatorial instincts that had grasped ahold of him after this sense of shock had finally taken over.

In truth, she had feared he would've reacted more violently to what she revealed unto him. As such, she had prepared herself for the worse. Fully expecting him to become infuriated with her for even suggesting such a slight. But as much as it grieved her, she had steeled herself to face whatever fury he might have unleashed, as her flesh and blood looked upon her with murderous intent. Scenarios unfolded whereupon she had been unable to speak her peace, before he lashed out at her for her daring to seek his aid. Even ones where he had outright tried to murder her, she had considered. And so with a determined heart, she had fought furiously to achieve just the right amount of his attention, to allow her respite to pull back his blindfold. For there was only one true way to capture such interest.

Parseltongue, the language of their ancestor. A tongue the Wizarding Community had let themselves believe was long since dead, and she was more than happy to let them think such an untruth. It was _theirs and theirs alone,_ after all. But more importantly, it was a solid tie to him and to the ancient line of Slytherin. A trait, that could not be developed or learned, only passed upon birth from their line. Simply put, she could not have stated more plainly that they were related, had she sliced open her veins and performed an old world Blood Rite before his very eyes.

Vera would do anything to make her brother realize that she was far from just _any_ prisoner that had been left here in Azkaban to rot. Her heart warmed at the very thought that she need not resort to such dramatic lengths, as she feared. He had believed her to the fullest measure, upon little more than her word, her memories, and naught but a _hiss_ of the truth. His ability to read when one spoke such lies seemed to have grown exponentially. Shifting the gravity of the situation vastly, when she had been just minutes before merely a long forgotten soul hiding in the darkest of places. And had he not come to retrieve his loyal followers within Azkaban's depths, a lost soul, she may have remained.

The Occlumency skills that she had fought to uphold through the most grueling of torture had swiftly fallen to the wayside upon his arrival. Her mind wanted nothing more than to bare her very consciousness for his perusal, to reveal to him that she indeed was worthy. Her Legilimency skills, though less proficient than his own, had proven themselves worth every painstaking hour in this moment. For while she had realized almost immediately that neither the prisoners, nor Dementors warranted such tactics, she had persevered. Practicing until her nose bleed from over exertion. Knowing in the pit of her stomach that a time would come, when reading body language would simply not be enough. That she would be forced to enter the chasm that was her own twin's mind, in order to save him.

* * *

She supposed it was quite possible that he not only sensed their burgeoning weakness, but because they fought in some manner against his magical sway. Whether it was something in their thoughts or in their hearts, his magic was a vengeful force, that was quick to punish for even a mite of doubt. Even if their ambitions were unknowingly felt, he despised _any_ disloyalty. This much was clear in the lack of restraint he exhibited now. Just minutes before, his followers had lined the cliff's edge, as he had spoken to her. Their body language subtle as it may have been, was as apparent to her as his; though such allowances were made when you were siblings after all _._ However, their shifting, restless bodies had leaned ever so slightly _away from_ _him,_ long before his magic had begun to react so violently. With a observant glint in her eye, she had watched as they now cowered beneath his strength. How they sought to protect their own skin over facing their master with humility. _All but his Bella,_ she allotted. Appreciating the other woman's loyalty to him, without so much as a hint of selfishness piercing her heart.

Vera herself could not deny what either of them had longed for now, _craved_ even, anymore than she could fifty years ago. As magical twins, their touch was considered to be sacred by many due to how her magic was intricately woven into his, and vice versa. Continuing to move in a cycle between the two of them, never ending and mirroring the other's core. It had become their language before speech had developed; and it was through their flesh that thoughts and feelings could be shared. This neural bridge between their two bodies, was a natural phenomenon that was once openly praised by their pure-blooded ancestors. Vera and Tom had each devoted hours upon hours reading doctrine dedicated to protecting their condition from the rest of the world. For to those few Magical Beings who had first walked the Earth, it was almost as though Magic herself had blessed these nearly identical individuals. _In a way_ , Vera thought, _she had._

Closing her eyes to block out all distraction, Vera could remember every detail of their time there at the orphanage. From the time she and Tom had first made contact outside the womb, to the feel of his 16 year old hand wrapped securely around her own as they stepped out of Wool's together that last time, heading toward Platform 9 ¾. She held fast to these memories. The way those smoothed ridges and veins travelled throughout his pale artistic fingers, belying the strength she knew he possessed. With his magic surging through her as a conduit, she felt like she was whole once more; no matter what deformity the world saw when their eyes fell upon her.

His touch made her feel brazen and beautiful, in a way she could never quite fully feel on her own. She was quite used to the emitted waves of disappointment or pity, when someone gazed upon her nearly flawless form only to eventually find their way to her milky orbs. For as truly magnificent as it was to be granted the ability to connect her magic to that of the all-encompassing force around her, it was not one to be wished upon the tender-hearted. Nor the magically inept. For upholding such an advanced practice, if not prepared, had the ability to send one straight to St. Mungo's, _for a permanent stay_. Though such conditions, be them weak of the heart or magical aptitude were long beyond what she considered herself capable of nowadays. But she had once been made of softer things; more prone to feelings of depression and shame at the physical reminders of the illness that had ravaged her body to the brink of death, at such an early age.

But, as beaten down as she felt body and mind on any given day within Wool's smothering clutches, her darker emotions thrived off the malice that had drowned both she and her brother. The abuse they suffered at the hands of the Muggles who resided in the orphanage, would stick with them for as long as they both lived. It was this violence that had brought forth some of their first few magical manifestations. Far earlier than most children experienced in a stable home. Their touch had been the first, for its ability to both center them mentally, but more importantly to heal them physically.

For in the miserable grey scaled building that was Wool's Orphanage, _corporal punishment_ was hardly a thing of note. The mistress of the orphanage was unforgiving and often drank to ease her foul temper. It was not long before she'd turned her punishing gaze upon Vera and Tom, as _strange things_ began to occur around them. Through no fault of their own, they began to unsettle the other children. Whether new to the house or otherwise, it hardly took one glimpse before one realized conversations seemed to pass between the two, with nary a word. And that was just one of their many _devilish things_ that they had been seen doing. They all reacted the same violent way, making Vera regard them all on the same level of disgust that she felt when she'd seen them smashing bugs and cheering over their conquests.

And while Tom had thought of them with disdain, he couldn't fault her for regarding them like rabid dogs that could be found wandering around London. Not after the torment that they went through day in and day out. He often fared worse than she had, trying to protect her from their attacks. Even then, starved and beaten, he had instinctively shielded her from that which would cause her harm when she was at her weakest. He'd rarely left her side until she had been able to sustain her magic long enough to _see_ and fight back to his satisfaction. Slow as the process had been, she steadily built up her tolerance, until her fainting spells grew more and more infrequent. She worked tirelessly to show her beloved brother, who sheltered her with such unwavering loyalty, that she too could stand firm _beside_ him instead of behind. As an equal. _Never a hindrance._

* * *

They had just turned seven, when Tom first spoke of their _differences_. Long before they had been paid a visit by the _illustrious Albus Dumbledore_. Their _'gifts'_ had made them freaks in the orphanage long before, but they weren't the only differences they began to notice. Vera supposed they'd just innately known, even if they couldn't truly comprehend _why._ He had once told her that he didn't think he felt _enough_. _'Not like you deserve,_ ' he'd said. ' _Certainly not like the others.'_

Speaking of course, of the way the other orphans saw the world. For as feral as the little monsters acted toward them, they had such a innocence in the way they saw the world; so trusting and forgiving. Even Mrs. Cole had worn seemingly genuine emotions over the war's casualty counts. The war seemed to bring to front all sorts of fear in their eyes, but not the twins. But clearly, there was something a little more _different_ about his interactions with others than hers, leading back to his first few years back at Wool's.

She could remember the confusion he felt when she had cried, after being pushed down the back steps; he felt anger easily enough at the older child, but he couldn't fathom what emotion drove the salty tears to fall down her cherubic cheeks. _He knew he didn't like it. He knew he needed to make her better._ She had described the feeling of pain, but all he could do was imagine what such an emotion would feel like.

He healed her quickly, but his questions didn't end there. She understood, his want to analyze that which baffled him so. His trust of her was not lightly given by any means, but after she continually earned his respect, she grew to be his confidant on all matters. He trusted her not to tell anyone the _wrongness_ that such a lack of empathy, could mean. That they might take him away to the asylum, or set another ' _doctor'_ upon him. With her, he could be himself; with anyone else, he had to work to make them feel so at ease. But at such a young age, Tom just didn't know how to force himself to _care_ so much about the world around them.

Vera had always known there was a modicum of truth behind his words. He _was a little more different_ , but then again so was she. For a different set of reasons, but coming to such a revelation didn't leave her dismayed. It made her feel possessive of his affections, as significant as they were. They were a gift, something that she always cherished as much as she did him. While he'd once considered the fact that she might one day leave him for something _better; s_ omething _more -_ she, herself was not he didn't understand was that for her, there would never be anything better. He was hers, and she was his. It was a fact of life. People died everyday. There were 708 bricks lining the border wall around the orphanage. There had been a beautiful family of adders living under the berry bushes in the back. And if her brother could understand what love meant, he'd realize _it was_ what he felt for her. _In his own way._

* * *

As if confirming her own thoughts, she reached out as far as her confines would allow her. Seeking out his pale flesh against hers, as she grazed her fingertips along his robed arm and down to his palm. Weaving her fingers inside his clenched fists, until her heat permeated his cool, serpentine flesh. Something she'd suspected was due to the hybrid nature of his horcrux. It was when Vera began to feel his skin warm to the temperature of her own, a fleeting glimpse of happiness swelled within her for what was the first time in many years. Even after all of the time that had slipped from their grasp, long lost no matter how much she had fought to preserve it, she still could sense her Tom underneath the protective outer shell that was Voldemort. She felt the all too familiar spark that initiated from the very first touch of her hand meeting his, and attempted to conceal the resulting smile as she welcomed the heat that traveled up her outstretched arm and slithered upwards to dwell within her heart. Throughout all the years, their touch still held everything she had cherished within their years apart.

" _Come back to me."_ She repeated _._ Her words coaxing, as they slipped from her lips in a gentle manner. Urging him with underlying desperation that festered in her heart during his absence. Thoughts bubbled past her consciousness that lingered like an outstretched hand, just waiting patiently for him to take notice, as she held fast to him. Driving her last words home with a fierce tug on his conscious mind, she spoke with undeniable fervor. " _I need you."_

 _I always have and always will._ She pushed the thought in his direction with enough force to make him, even subconsciously, grab onto it. It was the utter definition of what kept her going throughout the cold, lonely nights here in this forgotten cell. He was everything that she ever cared for, the one person that made everything else in her life fall short. Nothing would ever exceed the love that she harbored for him; for such deep rooted feelings could not be wiped away by others. Least of all the Dementors that greedily tried to suck away every bit of her soul. She held no doubt plaguing her that he would come, it was only a matter of time. So, knowing this, she dutifully waited for such a moment to come to pass. When they would finally cross paths once again.

It was then, with a sigh escaping her lips, that she saw the brief flicker of life re-enter his crimson orbs. Pupils almost illuminating from within the darkness shrouding them, mirroring the rage still housed within his blood. Vera knew with certainty that she'd reached him, for she'd taken notice of just how his eyes dilated from what her intrusion wrought. Her sight offering her a clear view of the burst of color to flashing across his orbs. Jerking his head to the side, from the force of it; his jaw clenched at the disruption. His smooth brow furrowing, as she'd unwittingly pulled not only him back from the void, but shifted a lost memory forth as well.

She didn't know what moment he was currently remembering, but she could tell it was one of the rarest of all. _This was good_ , she privately thought. Knowledge only could ever amount to power and the sooner that he remembered what had been, Vera knew that they would be ready for what is to come. It was for there, exposed for her gifted eyes to take in, rested at first confusion then overwhelming realization. As he processed the memory that her actions had brought, the raging wind wisped around her eyes. Her grip upon him tightening as she held onto him like the anchor that he had always embodied, holding her firm despite all that may come to pass. It was an action that was so familiar to her; finding and revelling within the comfort that he only held for her.

The shadow of a genuine smile, tugging up the corners of his lips, curved with the trepidation of a young thestral taking its first few steps; as beautiful and morbid as the sight was. It was one a young child would bear, as his cheeks betrayed his heart's true amazement. Curious and innocent in its beauty, as it stepped into the unknown with a sense of wonderment.

She knew exactly how seldom such emotion had been truly felt in their childhood. For before Hogwarts, they had merely survived. Never to know true joy or decadence, until they'd stepped foot in the castle they'd soon come to call _home._ But for the two of them, the mere idea of Hogwarts had been a source of elation and utter terror. A feeling of almost _fear_ dug deeply into their hearts, refusing to release, as they carefully negotiated their way through the social castes within. Secretly terrified they'd wake from this dream, to find themselves back in their own personal hell. Self-preservation and pride would not allow them to cower, under the pitiful stares of others.

Eyeing his form closely now, drifting her observant milky orbs over the smooth glide of his browline down toward his curving lips, she saw no sign of the overwhelming paranoia she knew they'd both felt during that time. In a time where their last name was far too _Muggle_ for the world that they grew to deeply care for. It hadn't done them any favors at first with the Purebloods that ruled over Slytherin house prior to the day that they were sorted. They'd been called 'Half-bloods' with disgust as if part of them were that of a mindless animal or _Muggle_ themselves. In those situations, Vera fondly recalled how Tom had risen to the challenge; showing the inbred animals just how _superior_ their blood truly was. Blood was blood, after all.

It was with nary a night's rest in the castle, that the twin's made it their duty to bleed the reigning King and Queen of Slytherin. Splaying them across the Common Room's domineering wall, for all their house to see come morning. Illustrating just how filthy and crimson, their own leaders' blood looked as it dripped across the finely woven carpets. After that, their housemates solemnly made note not to dare make a cutting look or remark toward either of the twins. For Vera and Tom had swiftly proved themselves worthy of the 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin,' and soon their housemates' fear shifted into respect, when it was discovered that they could speak Parseltongue. That in combination with their advanced abilities toward wandless magic, elevated them high above the filth that tainted the halls, in many of the heirs' opinion. In fact, _in her own opinion,_ it demonstrated less of how worthy _they_ were, and just how _unworthy_ the most _prestigious of pure-bloods_ were.

So, as she positively burned with curiosity to discover what memory his mind had chosen to release, she could already feel him drifting away from reality. For as he spiraled back into the depths of his mind, desperately chasing after the memory that had been forgotten; fixating his attentions solely on whatever had caught his eye. However she knew this was only the beginning, for soon he'd begin trying to force his memories to the forefront. _It's only natural_ , Vera defended as she sought to allow him this moment, _to seek that which one has lost._ She also acknowledged that if he did not get a grasp of himself soon, none of them would make it off the island. So, it was with a heavy heart, that she tugged him back from what could very well be the only memory he would ever have of their shared past. His immensely resilient mental shields seeming to work in conjunction with whatever Dark Magic Grindelwald had left in his wake.

* * *

Coming back from the void had shaken him, much more than he wished to reveal. Voldemort found his eyes wandering down to the warmth that seemed to be radiating from his wrist. Her delicate fingers having wrapped themselves around his own, desperate for purchase. His greedy eyes followed her deft fingers up to the curve of her wrist, narrowing in confusion, before finally understanding just what the dark device clamped abusively around her flesh was. The other wrist bearing an identical weight, from its resting place on the crumbling ledge between them.

Where both of her wrists had been bare in her mindscape and memories previous, they now bore the true reason for her weakened state. Metal contraptions with spikes puncturing deep into her flesh, serving the sole purpose of inflicting agony upon her for as long as she drew breath; as each cuff covered nearly half of her forearm. He had no doubt the blades served their purpose by locking themselves into her blood, and into her magic. He raised their joined hands, like some gentleman of old, scrutinizing the craftsmanship behind such an artifact. He had bore witness to similar torturous items in his travels abroad, but he was confidant he hadn't seen one made quite like these before.

 _Such a well-crafted piece,_ he could not deny this even as he found himself desperate to dislodge it from her immediately and violently ensnare the offender responsible of putting it on _her._ While heavy and cumbersome, just as he assumed the Muggle version to be, he did not doubt the purpose of such an Goblin-made object. _Manacles,_ he thought, _meant to bind her magic._ _Meant to make her weak, like a Muggle,_ his mind sneered _. Only, she was like him,_ he admired that about her as he lifted his gaze to stare at her with a possessive edge before dropping it once more on the cuffs that attempted to hinder her. _Too powerful to be kept in a prison meant for lesser beings._ Pride flared in his chest as he began to read the etchings scribed across in the metal. Just above where it pierced the inner curvature of her wrist, stood the elegant scrawl of Gobbledegook.

' _Magic bound by blood of the offender, I hereby warn thee, helpful lender. Cursed be thee unto bearing these irons yourself, for only in death may ye restore your magical wealth.'_ He read in silence, slowly analysing what he must do, before scrutinizing her carefully.

He was certain that she'd read these words countless times whilst she was trapped here, left only to wait. It dawned on him for maybe the first time that he stepped into Azkaban that she had hoped that he would be the one to cross her path first, for with him she knew she would have at least a chance to speak. If Grindelwald had come before him, armed with a Dark weapon or spell strong enough to silence her for good, Vera would've been dead without him ever having the chance to know _exactly who she was_. The forgotten past that she stood for. It would have left him unknowing that there was another player that had taken it upon themselves to join the battle that raged between both Dumbledore and himself. _It could have led to his death._

He locked his orbs with hers as they stared back at him solemnly. Though it wasn't without a knowing edge glinting from within her moonstone-carved eyes, as she too knew what would grant her freedom. The manacles would have no doubt, been keyed into Grindelwald's magical signature when she was bound; to leave them on would be giving him an open invitation to where ever she thought to run. She set her jaw, at the thought of the pain that could be about to come. But it wasn't until she issued a firm nod in acquiescence, that he finally spoke.

" _Stand back."_ He instructed sharply as he gazed upon her before he drew forth a wand, that she was almost as familiar with as her own. Vera hastily leaped back from the wall, severing the contact she had made with him as she turned her body away from the expected blast. Only, instead of the shrapnel raining down upon her body, it crackled and popped like breaking ice as he broke through the wards. Forcing the wall's molecular structure to bend and shift, according to his will. He easily transfigured the heavy brick and mortar into the thinnest glass, translucent and brittle, before sweeping his wand minutely toward the ground. His magic effortlessly forcing the entire piece to collapse in on itself.

Disintegrating harmlessly into tiny granules of sand beneath their feet, with nearly no effort at all on his part. Within seconds, one of the most fortified walls in all of Azkaban came down like the falling remnants of a slain chess piece. Azkaban was still the very place that all of Europe feared more than Death himself. If only, one were to show the public the ease in which he had crumbled the fortress, from foundation to ceiling. They would fall and scatter from fear, she was sure.

Vera Eleanora Riddle, sister to The Dark Lord and heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, was no fool. As easily, as she had stretched her arm through the crack in the prison's walls, she had not dared to try to escape through the enclosure. The weight of Grindelwald's enchantments suffocated her on the best of days; and it was the heavy metal irons around her wrists, that reminded her just how unyielding her vengeance would be. Curses had been laid upon her skin, threatening pain far worse than the physical, should she venture beyond the demarcation he had _allowed_ her. Her magical core itself, had been bound inside these four walls for longer than some had lived. Entry into her cell would have been nigh impossible to any fool ignorant enough to try, here in Azkaban. The dozens of intricate wards and ancient spells that kept her inside its borders, repelled the weak as much as it did the ignorant. It was enough to drive any normal witch mad. Had the dementors not already, that is.

After Grindelwald's supposed 'fall from power,' Voldemort admitted grudgingly Gellert had taken great care in his manipulations of Dumbledore's body. Possessing the outright appearance of the wizard into doing not only his bidding, but giving him the ability to steal everything he had sought to have: power, influence, and loyal followers. Those of the Light flocked to Dumbledore's side, after the duel that had taken place, and while many stayed for the appearance of 'good' - few acknowledged more than what was expected of them by the world. It was unclear exactly how long it took for Gellert to gain full control, but to have been ousted by a mere slip of a girl. Her notice of his subtle _differences_ could not be left unhandled and through Albus's thoughts, Grindelwald had uncovered the bond she shared with her brother. But more importantly, he had succeeded in trapping her in the passageway where _Albus Dumbledore_ knew her to frequently travel. Gellert effortlessly overpowered her, though Voldemort had to applaud his previously forgotten sister for putting up such a vicious fight in response.

While he had been more afraid of her eventual escape than of anyone assisting her, Gellert had not been careless in his designs. Strengthening Azkaban's wards had been childsplay to the man who had build Nurmengard from the ground up. But still, locked away as she was, with every year that passed he expectantly must've grown less worried over what she knew and more concerned with the next steps in his plans. From what she had shown Voldemort in her mind's eye, Vera had _seen_ Gellert time and time again speaking to others with the face of another. Had looked through the mask that he wore, into the eyes of Gellert Grindelwald himself whilst he commanded the Light to do his bidding, and secured darker allies in the shadows.

Countless other bodies were at his disposal and yet he still refused to shake his hold on Dumbledore. The one whose magic he had used to Obliviate every soul at Hogwarts, until Vera truly was _no more_. Not even the ghosts or the basilisk had any memory that there had once been another Riddle. His fascination with the wizard whose body he wore most often, was something of constant disgust. It was a sick sort of fixation, one that still disturbed her greatly. Her hatred of the man knew no bounds. Voldemort seemed to possess the ability to feel such mirroring emotions himself almost immediately after she produced them, tantalizing his primitive senses as soon as her body released pheromones into the air around her. As strong as they were, and he once again couldn't find fault in her line of thinking.

Voldemort had chosen to watch silently as she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth when the thoughts of the things he had done, seeped into her thoughts, before he made a split decision to step further out of range of her subconsciousness. He could blame it out of the respect that he was regrowing for her, but instead readied himself for what was to come. In the meantime, Vera tried to breathe deeply in through her nose and out of her mouth, as she sorted through both the pain she previously thought she grew to endure as well as the thoughts that surged within her mind.

Gellert had a sick fascination with defeating Death, this she knew. He craved power. Was addicted to its seductive call, pounding through his veins. The idea of becoming invincible, in a way that would bring the Magical and the Muggle Worlds to their knees, was all that drove him most days. She feared the means by which he would see these wants achieved; but she knew somewhere deep down, he was troubled. Her presence was the poison to his dreams; it was why he refused to come and mock her.

She was a girl, barely a woman when he had set his sights upon her; but still he had failed. She lived, unlike any witch or wizard he had punished before for their interference. Sure he felt rage within him at the mere thought of her, that much had been abundantly clear, but Vera predicted it didn't produce enough confidence within him to make him come and face her. It was more of what she represented to him, Vera suspected, that she was the one that would not break for him. No matter what he - or anyone else, for that matter - could ever do unto her.

For a little waif of a witch, to so easily cheat him out of watching her die under his most favored wand, astounded him. The wand that _'Dumbledore'_ had pried from Grindelwald's hand upon his victory some months prior. He'd even tried to torture her by her own wand, thinking the act would have been most satisfying. But he'd been less than impressed when the very core of the thing had crumpled beneath his hand. Thinking that it could not handle his power, and never realizing the _truth_ behind its final act of loyalty to its owner. But for Vera to withstand the full force of his own wand, time and again until he exhausted himself, it was certainly enough to wound his pride.

His envy and utter madness drove him to grow careless, for not checking up on her as he should have. Wards be damned though, for they weren't strong enough to keep out the only one she sought. The only one strong enough to smash her captor's little glass house that he kept her locked ever so tightly in, was the one that he had forcibly parted her from. Gellert may have twisted around in Tom's head; erasing all that he could find of her to make Tom believe that he was utterly alone in this world with no one that would truly understand him - but he didn't tamper with her mind. He may have been under the impression that she would be too broken in the face of everything that had been done to her; that Tom would ignore her if their paths dared to cross. Perhaps even seeing the poetry in allowing her own brother to kill her, where he could not. Voldemort could not deny the possibility that he could have slain her, thinking that she was just another victim of Azkaban's esteemed caretaking.

Grindelwald was quite capable of such cruelty, after all. Perhaps he'd just hoped to one day come back to find a crazed prisoner in her place, much like he had upon discovering Morfin Gaunt all those years before; stark raving mad and practically seething with ill-manner. Confirming just how utterly disgraceful his _'family'_ had allowed themselves to become. _How the mighty fall._ Gellert would no doubt take the same path, he guaranteed it. _He promised her this._ He would receive that and more for the pain he had caused her.

Gellert Grindelwald in all of his designs, had not even considered what she would do with the knowledge that he hadn't taken away. What she would do given the chance to speak with her brother. Funnily enough indeed, for it was by this fool's mistake that worked in their favor. Vera alone would make sure of that.

Grindelwald was not worthy of the title declaring him as a Dark Lord. His desires were disgusting, urged forward by the twisted sociopathic tendencies that fueled him. She had seen the level of madness he had set upon the Muggle World by encouraging the War that resulted millions dead. Magical and Muggle blood spilled, for what?! Dark amusement? She may have held no feelings toward Muggles given her childhood other than disgust, but that did not mean she let such emotions - or lack thereof - blind her anymore than her own eyes did. Her magical core may be dark, darkening more for the things forced upon her, but that didn't mean that she let it rule over her heart. Only one person held that kind of power over her, and he now stood before her. _Close enough to touch._ Gellert's malicious sense of humor may have caused her stomach to turn more than once over the years, but she refused to allow her own flesh and blood to fall victim to his seduction. Tom would not be the puppet Gellert aimed him to be, not if she had anything to say about it. In everything that Gellert had ever done, he only served to twist the Dark into something it was not meant to be and she strongly despised him for it. His manipulations were intricate in a way that threatened to collapse the balance of Light and Dark Magics everywhere.

When her skin began to vibrate, Vera was driven back to the wizard who was her balance. _The Dark to her Light, as dim as it shined these days,_ she solemnly thought as she raised her moonstoned gaze to look upon his troubled visage. Her core felt like it was going through a metamorphosis, but to what extent it will end is what she wasn't aware. She had always felt a distinct pull toward Light magic upon her entry in Hogwarts, but these days… she wasn't sure of much more than the feelings she harbored for Tom. _Maybe_ , Vera attempted to guess at pinpointing the feelings dancing underneath her skin, _just maybe… her magic was accommodating the one that was seeping through the walls of Azkaban, whom held her captive?_ It was something to contemplate: If you send most of your time held within a dark place, do you shift to accommodate your surroundings in an effort to survive? It made sense in retrospect.

His magic flared through the small space, seeking out any danger that may have camouflaged itself from view. The familiar tingling sensation of his own magic warmed the frosty air around them with intent as he sought to disillusion and break through the last of the wards that pressed down upon her, causing her skin to tingle at it's inquisitive touch. She was proud of his apprehensive nature for it revealed that he was reasonably suspicious, and _that_ would help keep him alive. She pushed the warmth that bloomed within her heart aside, though unashamedly, as her breath never paused nor quickened at how his leery gaze settled over her form. For very little had the ability to keep her brother out physically or mentally, if he truly wanted in; and she had nothing to hide from him.

Testing emotions and thoughts were but a routine he'd adapted to assure his safety, which she respected without comment. His magic was an unstoppable force, and to climb to the top he had made many enemies he would require it to be so. Like many times prior to this - Voldemort stood ready, willing, to crush those who threatened him and those he considered _his_. It was a possessive sort of mind frame, that she knew him to have. No one other than herself had ever been important enough to share what he deemed as his; whether it was important or otherwise. For in revealing such things to others, one allowed themselves to be preyed upon. To be made the fool, and he despised the idea of have a weakness. Refusing to even give another the opportunity to take what was only his to lay claim upon.

 _And his, she was._ The thought echoed in both of their thoughts, mirroring with conviction that such a thing was the utmost truth. It made Vera smile, even if times such as these, with the knowledge that he claimed her as his even when he knew so little of the bond the two of them held. It was just as the ashen beauty took him in, in all his glory, that the rolling thunder sounded overhead. Ominously forewarning the approach of something foul on the air that triggered her heart to stutter out a rhythm of unease. She could feel it. _He_ was almost here. Whether he felt a disruption in the wards wrapped around the cell or had simply caught wind of the attack on the prison, she knew naught.

Before the Dark Lord could take even one step closer, another gale came forth from over the water behind him, sending the sharp granules of glass up into the enclosure. Tossing thousands of shards up into the air, preparing to slice scarlet rivers across her exposed flesh. Her arm rose up to shield her eyes. An instinctual response, after having lived for so long cut off from her magic. For having it bound so tightly around her core even after all of these years, she could no more defend herself than a muggle could within these hazardous moments.

Only, she felt the frigid night's breeze hit her skin instead, cutting through the heat that Tom had invoked whilst working on the wards with ease. The transfigured pieces seemingly halting mid-air from the path of which they had tried to descend upon her. She slowly lowered her gaze from where each individual piece seemed to have been engulfed by an invisible shield of sorts, holding them in place, toward the man who had wandlessly shielded her from such mutilating cuts. He met her eyes with a brooding darkness that she could not even begin to describe for the life of her. Slate blue turning a forbidding navy in the shadow of the moon's fading beams. She wondered just what could have been running through his mind in that moment.

Sweeping the remainder of the dangerous sands to the side, he cleared his path into the cell; robes twisting about in the riotous winds circling the island. After gesturing toward the cot at their side, she laid down without so much as a word of complaint passing her lips. For she knew, this was a necessary evil; and required for her only hope of escape. Her bed of stone and mortar was as cool as the salty waves crashing against the shore just beyond the rise. Small bumps danced across her skin from the chill. Reminding her of the cold nights they had faced in the orphanage, when they were forced to conserve the wood for the worst of the winter storms.

Forcing her mind to remain calm, she pushed air out of her lungs with resolve. Not allowing one flinch toward the discomfort she currently felt, nor the pain she undoubtedly was about to endure. Slowly, she raised her heavily manacled wrists over her head, where he stood staring down at her. Their eyes met once more, as she allowed herself one more look into the eyes of the man, she knew to be buried beneath his war-hardened exterior.

Carefully, she ignored the distortion his original visage faced. His handsome features misshapen under the affects of his latest soul-fragment's difference in species. It was his eyes that captured her, and it was those that she focused on. Cold as they might have been toward her now, they'd once held the warmth of a thousand suns. So similar were they to the boy she'd remembered all those years ago, watching from their window as yet another couple failed to meet his expectations in the adoption process. Whether they denied to take in both he _and_ his sister, or he questioned their ability to care for them properly, it all mattered not. He held strong in the decision that either they left together with a deserving family, or they remained together here in one of the worst places to grow up in all of London.

For, if they were together, they could survive even death. This, had he vowed to her, always followed her despite all that she did. In all that she had overcome with him in mind. It was here - _now_ \- on the stone mockery of a bed that she'd been forced to sleep on for all of those years, she could see now that his vow had been made reality. For there she laid, awaiting death with impatience; knowing that when she awakened, he would be there at her side. Just alike he always had promised to her.

And as she laid there so still in that moment, he could not help but to see just how young her body appeared. She couldn't have been but sixteen or so, when her body stopped aging. It was eerie to know she truly was his age, having only carved out a different path toward her immortality; whether a willing participant or not. Her mannerisms and tones of speech weren't something one saw in this day and age. Her every movement and thought set her apart. From others, and to him. She gazed up at him, pensively, managing to cease all but the smallest of quivers from the overdriven nerves within her at what was to come. He forced himself to grasp her bound hands with his left, cradling her wrists together above her head with a gentle but firm lock.

Trying his best to ignore the warmth that spread throughout his chest at the feeling of her smooth skin once again touching his, Voldemort gripped his wand tightly. She then shifted before his eyes. Offering him the cleanest of angles, to remove every bit of tainted flesh and metal, as he raised his wand arm threateningly. The magical core within him seemed to pulse with protest as he leveled his wand to her, and for yet another time since meeting her Voldemort found himself astounded that though he had to actively search to recover the memories he held of her - a part of him still recognized Vera for what she was. His to protect; and though it felt right to express possessive behavior regarding her, it still left a sensation that was strange within a man such a he.

" _Close your eyes."_ He gritted out between his teeth, the command hissing past his lips before he could stop himself. Hating how easily his heartbeat faltered in his chest at the sight of her, so defenseless beneath even him. His magic fluttered inside him, causing his stomach to drop; as if pleading with him to do her no harm. To find another way, even though he knew there was no time for such indecision. Every second that passed was to be calculated and used sparingly; for even without being gifted by her sight, he too sensed that their enemy was fast approaching.

He chose not to retract the request that slipped from his lips seemingly upon it's own accord, for had no desire to gaze down into her silvery orbs as they lost their light, even if it was for but a moment. The trust that shone from within them was too much to bare for him whilst he considered all the pain she had experienced at the mercy of another. Even after all she had been subjected to, the unadulterated emotion she held for him knew no amount of time or bounds. The iridescent, nearly colorless glow of her eyes, was also a reminder of things he'd only just been allowed remembrance of. They were once so clear, before her sight had been taken; a pale blue that rivalled the ocean's waves. His memory of them was clearer than anything he'd ever seen before. It was why, without question, he treasured it above all others.

They'd shone within his mind's eye almost as brightly as he remembered her smile to be. Both luminous in how they made him feel such warmth. Filling him with this indescribable feeling that somehow, in a room full of people, she saw _only him_. Tom Marvolo Riddle. _The monster and the man._

Forcing himself to speak the words that had always come so easy, he closed his own eyes in absolute anguish. Refusing to allow even a break in his voice.

" _Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** Friends, we are back and we are not just here to tease you with this chapter! Another awaits just in the wings, so fear not. So while, we had not originally planned to split this one up, at over twice the word count of this beauty, we were forced to. Do us both a solid though and hit that 'follow' button, so you'll be some of the first ones to see how they make it off the island! There's Dark Curses, Dark Lords, and plenty of gorey action included (which I know you'll love.) You're dying to read more, & I'm dying to show you! So let both myself and my kick-ass Beta/Cowriter/Therapist (yes, she has many titles) know if we are keeping you on the edge of your seats, and REVIEW. You'd be amazed how fast we can whip this next bitch of a chapter into shape, with a few kind words.

Now last, but not least, I don't have to tell you how hard WarriorHime53 and I work on these chapters, but this isn't the only story we work on together. The Monster Within is our other lovechild (under her pen name,) and if you're a fan of getting a hands on view of a what Tom Riddle's life could've been like before his time as Voldemort, you should check it out! It's a complete retelling of his story following the death of his soul-mate and how they find each other reborn, despite the rivalling war between the Lords of both Light and Dark. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Strong and vibrant Fem-Harry time traveling to meet her soul's mate while rebuilding the Great and Most Noble House of Slytherin from the ground up! What the hell am I waiting for!'

 **Last Words:** We love you all immensely. Your support has been amazing all around. So keep us in mind, and you just might see this next update sooner than you'd imagine! ;) _Hint Hint. Wink Wink. Nudge Nudge. *whispers: REVIEW*_


	7. Chapter 7- Flight of the Betrayed Part 2

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

Beta'd and Cowritten by, WarriorHime53

 _A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

 _No Copyright Infringement Intended_

 _All rights belong to JK Rowling_

 _As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

 _Furthermore, I've made a few changes to canon which will become apparent further down, so please keep an open mind. They're just some changes that I thought would spice the story up a bit. I appreciate all of your reviews & follows immensely, so please don't be afraid to drop me a line or two. What did you like? What don't you like? How can I improve the story? Let me know! _

**Chapter Seven:**

 _ **[Memory from earlier, when she pulled him from his mind.]**_

 _He'd been so cold. His pale limbs, shivering in the starkly furnished room. The tall imprisoning walls of a child's crib surrounded him. Peeling paint flecked off the edges of the bars, making them sharp to the touch. He remembered this just as he grasped the splintered wooden bars, worn from many years of use. His hands were so small. So weak, he thought, as a paint chip brutally sliced into his palm. Red appeared where once there was none, but still he did not cry. He knew no one was listening._

 _Then, just as he gazed about the room for escape, the thin curtains shifted. The cold draft slipping in through the cracks under the window pane, causing him to curl in on himself uncomfortably. But the frigid breeze brought with it a view of the night sky overhead. Illuminating the room in the brightest of moonbeams. It was only then, that he saw_ _her_ _; the pale creature with the bright eyes. She leaned against the confining walls of her crib, a few meters away. It appeared to be in just as much disrepair, as his own. Though, he did not remember seeing it there earlier. The matrons must have brought her in after he'd been put down for his afternoon kip._ He'd definitely have remembered her _, he thought, as she continued watching him through the bars, admiration gleaming back at him._

 _She observed him, just as he did her. Each silently evaluating the other. Her white-blond crown of curls briefly caught his attention, before refocusing on their original destination; her eyes. Her eyes were brighter than anything he'd ever seen before. Not that he'd seen many beautiful things here, in the rundown nursery. Specks of dust sometimes floated around on the rays of sunlight. Then there were the birds' wings fluttering as they lept off the roof, soaring high into the sky just outside his window._

 _But this pale creature, she was beautiful too. More so. Something about her just called to him. She was the brightest of stars to be seen in the coldest of wintery nights. And she watched him just as steadily, with that acute sort of fascination only a young child could have._

 _She was locked behind a similarly gated bed; staring endlessly through the grates, across the room at him. Patiently waiting to see what he'd do next. Watching him like he was the most curious thing she'd seen in all of her life. Which arguably, may not have been as long as it felt like, but he knew there was some significance in her fervent attentions._

 _He wanted out. This he knew. But it wasn't until his hands grew hot, that he realized something was happening. Fisting them tightly around the bars of his crib, the wood began to warp. His hands glowing an angry red, like the embers in the fire, when they were tended. Bending them to the sides just enough for him to slip through, and he was free. It was with a great thud, that he lowered himself to the floor. His small body, too young to yet know how to walk, so he crawled the last few yards over to her._

 _She was there waiting for him; extending her hand down to touch his. It was with steady resolve that he reached as high as his small body would allow, leaning heavily on her crib for stability. Then with the lightest brushing of skin against skin, he was inside. There with her, in her crib. He looked around curiously, before staring once more at his own hands. Then, realizing it was_ _her_ _hands that moved him, he blinked up at her entranced. He could not deny his greedy fingers from reaching out to touch her again. He liked what he had felt. She was warm. She made him tingle. She made sparks come from his hands. From both of their hands._

 _They didn't speak, they were still too young. But they hissed out sounds in some sort of almost-language. Not quite what the larger beings spoke when they picked him up to be fed. He liked these hissing sounds. They weren't choppy and complicated, like the large beings'. These just slithered off the tongue. His mouth seemed to form the sounds without even trying._

 _She looked on inquisitively as he responded to her hisses in kind, her eyes lighting up. They weren't milky, or clouded. They were the lightest silvery blue he had seen; as bright as the moonbeams that lit the room when it was so cold. She covered his hurt palm with her own, stroking the injured flesh gently. Before he even felt the instinct to retract from her gentle probes, the skin smoothed over once more. Causing his brow to pucker in confusion, as he looked back up at her curiously._

 _Her shivers, were what drew his attention down toward her well-worn blanket. Neither blanket really kept either of them warm, as they each held too many holes to protect them from the cold. As both had been born in the heart of winter, the bitter cold was all they'd ever known. But she felt warm to him. In fact, the air itself seemed to vibrate around her while they touched. He realized he could feel her warmth, even without touching. Something was happening in the air around them. He liked this feeling. It settled deep inside him, and made him never want to let her go._

 _He laid down next to her, hissing at her in their language. She seemed to understand what he wanted. Crawling down at his side, with a heavy exhale. They laid belly down, with their little fists clutching each other's hand in theirs. Each warming the other with their accidental magic. When her eyes finally closed in sleep, her pale lashes grazed her cherubic cheeks softly. He watched as her brow tensed and then relaxed in slumber._

 _She didn't snore. She didn't cry either. He wondered if the matrons had put them together because there was something not quite 'right' with them. A child was supposed to cry, but he didn't know why. He didn't understand why they looked at him with such frightened expressions. But if she was like him, maybe he wasn't so broken after all._

 _Yes, she was like him!_ _Other_ _. Because of this, he never wanted to let her go. Her warmth was so very addicting anyway. Even when he slept, he knew she was right there. Could feel her in his dreams._

* * *

Vera never even saw the flash of green light that took her life. Tom had been quick with the deathly spell and she was thankful for the small mercy. Her mind had peacefully fluttered away from reality as soon as he'd uttered those last words. His tone said more than a thousand words could have. That in that last moment, he'd _felt_ , and that was all that mattered to her. Their bond was reigniting, his hesitation was proof enough of that. His head and his heart warred with his body over his actions. Every synopsis fired off in his brain, in some capacity. Millions sought to aid in her release, no matter the means. While the others fought to keep her safe from all harm, even by his own hand.

She knew that this was going to be a death unlike all the others, he'd dealt over the years. It was going to awaken the impulses he'd long since buried, and so it didn't matter if she'd been his first kill or his ten thousandth. The bond was built on the base desire to not simply survive, but to survive together. So, in some ways, he would be going against his very own will to live. Their very survival was dependant on the other, whether one existed across the world from the other, or beside them. Everything down to her very genetic makeup,made her different from any other he'd ever encountered. He seemed to sense it, just as she could.

It was there even in the way he looked at her; as though she was of a species the world had long declared extinct. Covetous as he was, she knew even if they had been of no relation, he would be hesitant against destroying such an artifact. More so, a treasure by which he would gain the upper hand over his enemies. Particularly when Dumbledore was so involved with her capture.

His reluctance toward delivering her to her death must have been quite a rare occurrence to him. His last command unto her still form had been one of complete and utter weakness. A raw moment of weakness that she wasn't sure he would still feel, under the effects of the horcruxes. But his actions seemed driven completely by the tight coil that seemed to constrict around his chest. Tightening more by her sheer proximity, and infinitely more by the abuse riddling her body.

* * *

Never before had he allowed himself such a repugnant response. But his inability to find pleasure in the task, staunched the ferocious greed he'd become accustomed to feeling. For Lord Voldemort had been the cause of a great many witch's and wizard's death in his lifetime. It mattered naught if it was for pleasure or for business, as he had never truly fought the impulses driving him to kill. Lesser beings, in particular those who fought to subjugate the Magical World from the Muggle, he punished with devastating satisfaction. His retribution unto their pathetic bodies brought him as close to feeling genuine emotion _,_ as his deadened heart would allow. Others, he only savored in a numb state of mild indulgence. For while his lust for power drove him to kill at times, there had always been a darkness inside that fed on his deathly desires.

However, when he was beside Vera, her presence almost seemed to soothe the beast beneath his skin. His _darkness_ purred within his veins when they had touched, as if a part hidden deep within him instinctively reacted to the proximity of _her own dark creature_. But just as still as the beast had become as he entered here cell, he now felt ready to destroy worlds when the spell lit the room in a sickly green glow. Her form remained altogether _too still_ for the dark creature within him to endure, and though no words were spoken between he and the beast, he was sure his beast _grieved for her._ As disturbing as the thought was for someone such as he, displaced in the darkness that enveloped his despite this, the Dark Lord persisted in his tasks despite the gut-wrenching battle taking place inside his chest.

* * *

Before her _attack,_ she'd read enough books to recognize the Unforgivable's notorious verdant glow. Studious as she was, she would've been bereft to only research spells devoted to the Lighter side of magic; even if they were the ones which came more easily to her. Tom, of course, thought she limited herself in relying solely on them, and perhaps he was right. The same happiness that once fueled her magic into mobility, wasn't quite as weightless as it had once been. It felt heavier, and she admitted _Darker._ She wouldn't be able to test her theory until she held a wand in her hands, but Vera was nearly certain there may be a few _differences._ But change or no, there were things to be done that would require sacrifice, and she needed to prepare herself. For Grindelwald would not wait to strike terror into the Magical World once more. He'd bided his time, and she alone was the only one to voice warning to the imminent attack.

After everything she had seenand _everything she had lived though_ , she could still not deny the horror that the Killing Curse brought her. The very sound of the incantation pulled her heart south, filling her with memories of the night she'd lost everything. Her heart raced and her ears rang with terror. Her visions, themselves were the farthest thing from being forgiving in that regard. Her wants and desires mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Her premonitions seemed to delight in giving her glimpse after glimpse of the devastation her twin brought down upon the world. His most favored spell, the catalyst for so much unnecessary death. Magical blood spilling back into the Earth with nary a second thought; each glimpse chiseled further into whatever sense of peace she'd held fast to.

It was _this_ death was far from thoughtless like the many others before it, far from the meaningless. When the fatal spell kissed her skin, she'd been ripped from her body like Death himself had swung his scythe down upon her flesh. Her soul took flight like an imperial bird, finally released from her confines. Surging forth toward her carefully sought after freedom, in a wisp of bold colors. The shell that had once been her body and her cage, remained behind. It was a freeing and harrowing experience, no matter how many times she had been brought to death's edge.

Vera could not help but to feel thankful for his last request. She had no doubt in her mind, that he was indeed capable of making this excruciatingly painful for her, had he wanted to. But today, The Dark Lord had a far greater purpose than giving in to his more sadistic urges. This was about far more than his thirst for blood.

Just like the days of long past, they seemed to communicate without thought. Subconsciously knowing exactly what needed to be done. Knowing with certainty that her body needed to die one way or another, then and only then could her flesh be severed from the manacles. Free from the painful affliction that had plagued her magic like a muzzle would a great fire-breathing dragon. There had been no stipulations made concerning the manner of death, nor did she care to waste time discussing them. But he had shown her mercy in a way that he, himself had thought himself incapable. That in itself, spoke a thousand words.

She knew he was not a man lead by his heart, nor such sentimental drivel as 'morals'. Any sort of loyalty that they once shared with one another had been long forgotten, when his memories had been so ruthlessly stolen his susceptible young mind. But she remained resolute in where her loyalty belonged even after all these years. Whether he knew it or not, her loyalty was his; just as her heart and her spirit would be, long after she was finally laid to rest. For all her life, she had relished in the sheer emotion that she held for him; and after this many years upon the Earth, she knew no other way to be.

* * *

His eyes remained on her, for a moment after her heartbeat went silent. A curious, yet painfully intent look reflected within his crimson orbs as he tried to comprehend just how truly divergent she had proven herself to be. His pursuits seemed fruitless, as he considered how manipulated he had been. She had effectively changed everything he'd known to be true. She was the variable that decided right from wrong, and more importantly would determine exactly how this war would end.

Had she heard the doubts floating through his conscious mind, Vera's heart might have swelled a little with pity. Not that she would ever dishonor him by acknowledging such a thought.

Even though she cared for him like no other, she was also aware that she could not test the link they shared. At least not yet. He was not quite _hers_ again, at least not in full. He would not yet know the full extent of their bond, until his memories were restored. She despaired over the thought, knowing full well how difficult a task that may prove to be. Potions and spells aside, she hardened herself to the fact that they'd be fighting an uphill battle to break through Grindelwald's mental restraints. Even in her half-cognizant state, she could do little more than worry herself deeper into the pits of her mind. It was after all, in her nature to view the world a different manner. She only hoped she would mistake what she _wanted_ to see, with what was really happening around her.

So as she fortified her heart from giving too much of herself to the man before her, she also refused to allow her hope to escape her. She even went so far as to explain away his _'kindness'_ as nothing more than a rational decision based upon analysis. This worked well, she _almost_ believed her own heartless rationale. He'd simply chosen the path most efficient to have her released as soon as possible. After all, he wished to leave this wretched place nearly as much as she, it only would prove in favor that he bring her along. Even if it was for the sole purpose of acquiring the knowledge that she possessed and potentially locking her up in a cell much like this one. Lacerations and severe bodily trauma took longer for her magic to heal than the Killing Curse, that was obvious enough. He'd bore witness to that, after all. Still, she dared not to mistake his _'mercy'_ for anything other than the coolest of calculations.

Hope for anything else, could turn poisonous.

Nevertheless, she mused, he could have taken advantage of her position. As cruel as his inclinations leant these days, she wondered just what thoughts lurked beneath the surface of his mind. Deep and slick were that of his intentions, like pools of thick oil; ready to drown a trespasser without conscious thought. Those of a fragile mindframe were the first to always be destroyed, taken down with a single blow much alike a house of cards. Flimsy, at best. _Weak_ , her mind hissed. Although Vera had been far from one of this description all of her life. she also knew that she would not be able to defend herself in such a state as she currently was. The manacles were a weakness meant to break her. _He_ could have taken her magic, but _he_ knew this would be more painful to her. A slow and painful death, one that she could not die from. It was far from the quick death that magic-stripping would have given, which would have dealt unto Death himself the life that he was owed from the manacles. However unlike Grindelwald, her brother had chosen another path.

The Killing Curse was not one she was unfamiliar with by far; but from all of the sessions she had been dealt by _him_ , she surely found the curse to be one of the more merciful. The green light normally brought about an all-encompassing white blanket over everything she knew of, enveloping her within comfort and relief even if only for a mere moment.

Vera more than once contemplated that death would be a thing to offer relief to her soul; if she was truly unable to have her brother by her side. The only hesitation that thought brought unto her, was that Vera didn't feel comfort by the thought that her body was left unattended around Gellert. In fact it made her considerably uneasy for she worried his hands would touch her in ways she was not obliging him to. What was sickening of all of it was she knew not to put anything past the old wizard; if she could produce a shiver in disgust right within this moment, she undoubtedly would have!

But it was now within this moment, at the mercy of the one she loved most, Vera decided she felt no more at ease than she felt in years. For every second brought with it the looming fear of what was to come. Any moment during her absence, could mean the difference between making it out alive or being slaughtered. Both were scenarios she seen playing over and over behind her eyelids; suspecting different scenarios to come to pass, each one pounding fear within her as much as the last. Grindelwald would come in Albus's body, that she knew for certain.

There were too many benefits to wearing such a mask. Especially knowing that the Ministry-touting Aurors despatched to secure the prison, would be hard-pressed to defend the old fool until death. He would be remiss to abandon such a chance to wear Albus Dumbledore's face this last time. He had after all, been successfully masquerading as the Lord of the Light over the better part of a century, for Morgana's sake. But more than anything, he was close to enacting the first part of his endgame, so if there was any time for him to be particularly vicious, it would be now.

When he arrived, his bloodlust for her would be an unstoppable force. She represented the only loose end that he'd left unclipped. He would come for her in all of his rage; no matter the cost of revealing Dumbledore to the other Aurors as a killer, by default. Why would he even care if he destroyed Dumbledore's reputation - if he shattered her at the same exact time, once and for all? His hatred of her burned deep even after all these years, for he held a sick lust for her pain at the same time. In her nightmares she was hindered, unable to move; just as she was now. Watching the scenes play out with abject horror, while being unable to help or break free from her reconstructive state.

Finally after what felt like hours, she felt the abyss wane. Death reluctantly retracted his claws from her soul once again, bidding her goodbye as an old friend with the knowledge that they would cross paths again. Every sense within her body sprung to life as breath once again pulsated within her lungs, alerting her to an event that was to come to pass. It was with the slow, exhaled breath that left her parted lips, that Vera's consciousness drifted back into the world of the living.

* * *

As Voldemort struck her down, he made quick work removing the only things connected to the torturous devices. Every bit of flesh that the foul iron had sunk into had been compromised. So, with a grim expression upon his face, he'd set about amputating the damaged limbs. Blood shot heavenward as soon as he uttered the cutting spell needed, splattering on the walls around them as far upward as it could reach. Flesh that had been previously connected to her body fell upon the ground with a metallic clang as her irons released. The sound echoed sickeningly in his ears. But as much as it physically caused him pain, to maim her so brutally, he could think of no other way to successfully free her from her confines so quickly. She was like a trapped creature, left to chew her own arms off, for freedom.

He couldn't help but contemplate for a moment just what he would do if he were in her position, before cringing at the very idea of being stuck helpless… left to rely on others. He knew there was no other way though and something within him rose up, hoping that she too would understand. The manacles seemed to issue a sort of poison that caused her veins around them to darken. Evidence to their claim on her, written in darkened branches that webbed across her near translucent skin. Deadened as the tissue was underneath, he knew with a considerably long glance that it had all been compromised. He wondered if her immune system would still bear the trauma of her confinement, and made a note to have Severus examine her.

Taking as much as he could of the infection that shone through from within her flesh, Voldemort gritted his teeth as he struggled to remain clinical. The putrid smell of the deathly poison burned it's way through his nostrils and attempting to cloud his head and though his mind remained unattached in every way, his heart pounded in his chest as heavily as it would have been as if he were naught more than a startled animal. Foreign sensations were pounding through his body at such a lightning fast pace, he could not hope to analyze their meaning. They almost succeeded in overwhelming him, drowning within the restless sea that these emotions created within him.

He took enough of the flesh to allow for clean regrowth. The familiar crimson of blood stared back at him, almost tauntingly bright against the dark stone. He thought to gauze the wounds, lifting his wand back over her form while wondering silently to himself when had he lowered it. But he could see the augmented limbs had already begun to take on that golden glow that intensified with each passing second, a sight that he now knew signified her body was healing itself. Bones lengthened and flesh regrew, her magic glowing from under the surface like a dozen fireflies caught in a jar. After glancing down at her blood and decayed flesh lying on the ground, he burned away any remainder of what was. Lest she be tracked somehow by it, or it be used for some sort of experimentation.

Her manacles, now starved of her blood and magic, opened invitingly. Eager to feed off the life force of another, like a parasitic creature. But he hissed in disgust, destroying every ward and rune binding them together. Choking the life out of them, as his magic crushed them beneath his will. Faults appeared along the bands, until they crumbled into nothing more than granules.

Only then did he allow his gaze to flick back up to the pale woman on the dais. Now freed from the only thing truly confining her, color began to return to her ashen skin. Vitality once more poured over her. His magic reacting at once to the vibrating sensation in the air growing stronger, as life returned to her. Infinitely valuable as she was in all of her glory, he longed to devour every drop of knowledge her moonstone orbs held.

Casting a contemplative look from her still form toward his fallen Death Eaters that lay immobile at his feet, he realized they'd lost valuable time in releasing her. Upon learning who she claimed to be, he greedily sought to discover all that she knew and to understand why _he_ \- Lord Voldemort - did not possess such knowledge. He had to know with certainty that she was not some spy, a mole that was left behind for him to discover under the pretense that she was his sister.

A fool's attempt since none matched that of his Legilimency, but if there were a ploy he would discover it one way or another. For he had not gotten to where he was today by not being careful. Even knowing what he did now, that his mind had been tampered with, he pulled at the strings of the netting furiously. He prided himself on being as paranoid as possible, as he trailed behind the stench of deceit until he discovered it's owner. This was no different, only he was sure he would have passed her by if he had not heard her speak up. While anger clung to her, rolling off of her scent in waves, she held no deceit when she called him brother. A fact, of course, that was probably the most interesting aspect of all.

When his crimson orbs refocused, Voldemort found himself looking grimly back over their collapsed forms of his Death Eaters; immediately setting about casting a renervating spell toward his second in command. He would deal with the hesitance in their loyalty toward him later, as he did favor hearing their screams and begging for his forgiveness; a kindness that he had no intention of delivering to many. A _Crucio_ burned upon the tip of his tongue, itching to roll off of it after all the deception he had bore witness to.

 _Later,_ Voldemort promised himself before he set to work.

* * *

He began his work healing their weakened bodies, all the while smirking at the thought of any lingering after effects their traitorous minds might suffer. Lifting his magic's subjugating weight from causing any severe long term damage was after all, his only pressing concern at the moment. He needed them mobile and able to hold a wand, for when the Aurors arrived there would be no holds barred. Blood would be spilled this night.

He sneered slightly as he recalled how the fallen bodies came to be in such a state. The treachery that had incapacitated all but one witch, made him truly question his followers' worth to him. Even his ever faithful lieutenant, had allowed herself to waver from his magic's pull. Something which came as a great disservice, given all her years at his side. All the years he'd spent molding her into being the witch he almost _trusted,_ if such emotions could be felt _._ It was these loose loyalties that had incited his magic to dole out necessary punishment.

As disappointed as he was in their budding dissension, he continued with his task at hand. All the while, heavily contemplating leaving them weakened for the dementors to feast upon. Helpless and unable to defend themselves upon attack. But as eager as he may be, he knew his patience would be rewarded when he culled the weakest from the ranks; enforcing their loyalty through their tenacious will to survive. If there was one thing he understood most about the human mind, it was that those innate survival instincts never failed to provide the proper leverage. Whether it was their own survival or those they loved most, Voldemort _would_ have their loyalty.

Now that his control had been returned to him, the levels of oxygen surrounding the island seemed to be returning to normal upon its own accord. His lieutenant, Bellatrix Lestrange whom he had awoken first, rose without apologies or irritating cries of gratefulness leaving her. Instead she bowed her head respectfully. Wild, dark curls bounced as she moved her head down further; her body bent low in immediate response to him. She could read by the darkening look that crossed his pale, serpentine face as she went; knowing instinctively that he wished to be done with Azkaban immediately.

The woman only moved when her Lord's voice commanded her to rise, softer than what he would utter to most, for she had been the last to fall. The most loyal out of all his Death Eaters. A title which she had once bore proudly, until she allowed herself to fall victim to her own body's needs instead of her Lord's. A lapse she was want to offer penance. ln the end, the Dark Lord found himself willing to be merciful in her punishment. For her failure was in her body's admittance that she was simply _human_. That, above all else, provided him the will to be lenient in her case; as weakened as she had become due to her stay here in Azkaban.

It was then that Bellatrix gazed off toward the prison walls that she realized her neighbor's cell had been nearly demolished in her time unconscious. _What wonders did the pretty bird share that interested her Lord,_ she mused. Jealousy biting at her darkened heart, as she gazed at the glorious destruction her Lord had left in his wake to free the other female before mentally shaking her head from thoughts that would surely bring punishment. Her gleaming obsidian orbs cast out across the rest of her troupe, only to quickly realize no others joined their ranks from where they laid soundless upon grime caked rocks. Starving curiosity filled her, but she forced her mind onto the tasks the Dark Lord would bestow upon her. He, who had given her everything, would not look upon her form and see failure _again_. She would _not_ disappoint.

" _Bella, after the others are awake, you will lead them to the East Wing. You know who it is we seek; only those most worthy. Get your wands and follow my signal, the Aurors are already on their way. I don't need to elaborate on what will happen, if you fail me again_ _."_

" _No, my Lord."_ She spoke clearly, enunciating her words to allow even a granule of hesitancy to color her reply. _"It will be done."_

He handled the strongest of his followers, those who had already begun to heal their most severe wounds. The most worthy of the lot, in his eyes. Their magical blood already aiding in their own recovery, thus only requiring the most languid of spells on his behalf. The weaker ones required more time and attention, than he had any inclination to giving them. But Bellatrix worked diligently in her efforts, determined to pull each and every one of them up by their bootstraps if need be. She refused to be punished because of _their_ pathetic inadequacies.

These spindly fools would either grasp what was left of their dignity and prove themselves, or die horribly by either her hand or the Aurors. Weakness was something that she would eliminate as soon as she got the chance. Her own lapse was enough to turn her stomach in shame. But where she had slipped, Bellatrix now steeled herself further because of it. For her Lord's patience would not extend itself again, she knew. But every chink in their armor caused her Lord to appear impotent.

She planned to thoroughly remind them why they had chosen to take the Dark Mark in the first place. Why they had chosen to follow him and no other. They were not healed out of mercy, but out of necessity to aid their cause. But if they continued to lie limp, dozing away ashore like dead fish, she would just kill them and be done. They had no use for soldiers who could not so much as defend their very own selves, nonetheless guard _their_ backs.

So as she helped her Master to regroup their weaker allies, she amused herself by kicking more than a few into movement; but only when they'd proved too dense to realize they were all bloody sitting ducks out here. _Stupid, lazy guttersnipes!_ One of the ones with less than half a brain realized the next blow was going to be a wandless _Crucio,_ and tried to grumble something smart to Mulciber about how effective she'd be without her wand.

She couldn't help but to cackle in amusement as her Lord sent his innards spilling out onto the cliffs below for blatant disrespect and for taking up more of their time. Clapping wondrously, she spun herself around in a circle, tatters of her skirt flaring dramatically. Her laughter taunting him further as he screamed in utter pain. _One less gobshite to worry about cursing me in the back!_ Her laughter slowly began to die away as she let out an appreciative hum that vibrated within her throat. _For someone so ugly, his screams are most pleasing_ _._

" _Death Eaters, listen or die."_ Their Lord's voice rang true through the roaring waves eating away at the shoreline, erupting sharply upward against the jagged rocks, and even the resounding thunder that had rolled above Azkaban seemed to settle at the sound of the magic encased in his words. The rising tide brought with it great promise. That of a new day, one of freedom, at long last. _"The Aurors and Albus Dumbledore are on their way. You will follow Bellatrix to free the others then retrieve your wands from the armory, or stay here and wait here to be killed. If you lag behind, I will kill you myself! Do any of you have any desire to die right now_ _?"_

The cliff where they stood now grew to be as silent as the dead. The sound of their own pounding heartbeats played like the beating of war drums. The Death Eaters whom had finally picked themselves up with a few less threads of pure-blood arrogance than they started with, surrounded him. They each took a knee at his feet, bowing themselves over as close to the ground as they were able. Each refusing to give him anything other than their absolute fealty, knowing that if they did not, he would know and they would not drift far to discover Death's awaiting arms. Whether death by their Lord's hand or the dementor's it mattered naught. For while a dementor's brand of death was such a cruel thing that no living being should be forced to endure, their Lord was cruelly imaginative.

Until now, the dementors had shown no allegiance to another. But their Lord's call to the Dark was one that even the most wretched of soulless beings, could not bare to ignore. Maybe it was for the fact that Voldemort himself understood all too well the very unadulterated, primal instinct that fueled one's survival; that as well as the promise of sustenance. It was just like the Light to starve beings greater than themselves. Trying their hand at taming such creatures, standing idly by wondering why it all didn't go according to their plan in the end. But at his hand, they would feast for days. No more would the walls of Azkaban keep them from their meals. Voldemort had shattered those distinct wards against the dementor's entry upon his arrival; and after he and his most worthy Death Eaters had gone, the rest of the prison would serve as payment.

For he was nothing if not a man of his word.

* * *

The Death Eaters each understood by the Dark Lord's brevity, that to defy would mean certain death. The steel-like tone that encased his words slithered dangerously into their muddled brains, like the snake in which his appearance embodied. Dangerous and swift, they fought to remain still before the Dark Lord in fear of what he would subject them to if they weren't able to comply. It was with an ease that the majority of them understood, some had even coiled in anticipation at the mere thought of the looming battle.

Punishment for failing their Lord in this moment would be a most excruciating death indeed. Voldemort knew most feared him more than any follower of the Light ever could. He imagined that they thought they knew exactly what lengths he would take to achieve his rightful place of power. That they had seen the worst of his temper, had felt the anger they invoked within him, as they lay twitching from the after effects of his Cruciatus and had survived; even if they had only done so because he saw fit. They'd be wrong to suspect that he had any such limitations, for he'd never truly allowed his darker side to roam freely as he desired to now. Voldemort greatly wished to inflict immeasurable pain on one wizard in particular, and his time was swiftly approaching.

Magical feats as Dark as his own had not been seen since the times of Morgana, when she battled Merlin for absolute control of the Magical Realm. History books devoted to her power had long been forbidden from Hogwarts's vast library, which was why they'd been what he'd coveted most from his followers private collections. The difference between them being that where she had failed, he would conquer. _That_ was a fact he would see to. Learning from others mistakes and promising to not fall victim to their follies, was what elevated his early understanding of the Dark Arts.

But now, learning what he had, he was beginning to see the error in _his own_ plans. For though his control of the Dark forces, could not be matched by any Dark Lord or Lady in history, he had grown cocksure and not foreseen that one Dark Lord remained on the board. But as vulnerable as he felt in this moment, he now had the one weapon Grindelwald had never succeeded in destroying. The one thing that would lead to his demise.

A Seer made from the very same flesh and bone that had bore him such magical potential. She was the weapon that he would use to pierce the swine's heart; and as the coward dared to take in one last breath he would feel the fires of a thousand hells torch his very soul. For Voldemort would see to it that every trace of him was destroyed from this world, and into the next. As those whom had long ago etched their very name for the ages to remember, held little more than a candle to the blaze that burned inside him in this moment.

" _Yes, just as I thought."_ He acknowledged in a softer tone, almost as if he were speaking to himself and not with that of his Death Eaters. Amusement enveloped within him as a wry smirk formed at the corner of his lips, for the sight of their subservience pleased him.

" _Proceed."_ He hissed dangerously to the mindless fools that he called minions, but only a moment later he tilted his head to his lieutenant's direction and began to speak in a more forgiving tone; though as vague as the details where. He held no doubt that with her leading the troupe, his commands would be accomplished; even if the number of remaining Death Eaters was cut in half by the time that she was though. _"Bella, I will be along momentarily. There's a matter in need of attending. You will know when it's time."_

That being said, he did not wait for a reply before Lord Voldemort soundlessly apparated away from them. His snake-like appearance twisted in a spiral of pale skin and dark clad robs before black smoke enveloped his form; his magic carrying him toward the subject that he was coming to desire most.

* * *

At first, Kingsley was sure his ears were deceiving him. It had started as a busy day at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, more so than what had come to be regular to them. The Aurors had been quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of complaints being reported by witches and wizards all over Muggle London. It had been with full interdepartmental cooperation, that they'd been able to make their way through just _half_ of the calls. In fact, the Minister himself had called in every able bodied witch and wizard from each end of Great Britain, all the way up to Scotland and then over to Ireland; just to deal with the matter.

Altogether, he and Tonks had been sent out to over a dozen calls; concerning just about anything from maimings to threatening the exposure of the Magical World. The usually vibrant Metamorphmagus looked nearly as ragged as he felt by that point, and he was willing to bet that he looked just as bad if not worse. The last two reports had been particularly gruesome, just as one would expect from a rampant werewolf attack. They still had few leads on who could've been behind such a trail of crimes, as there was practically no magical traces left near the bodies. _Children_ , Kingsley shuddered at the mere thought of what he had seen. Once more reminded of the reason why becoming an Auror was not for the faint hearted.

It was times such as these, where Kingsley Shacklebolt only _acted_ as if he was calm and controlled as ever. Though even he, in all of his years holding a job within the Department, felt like he was going to be sick. The children were practically ripped apart, as if the werewolves had fleetingly decided that they were going to crawl inside of them and use the once lively shell as a _den_. Large pools of blood had been scattered precariously around the children, and they'd begun to look at the possibility of multiple assailants. Especially with the rate at which they were attacking; for one could only assume that when they targeted one, the others would be reduced to their baser fight or flight instincts. Since the targets were only children and held no hope to win against fully grown wizards, they would choose the second option. That, however, would only _be_ an option if there wasn't someone to... _tend_ to them. Kingsley shivered as he thought about it, physically cringing away from where he currently stood.

It had been one of the worst days for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The Minister had already called for the names of the violent perpetrators, demanding that they be brought before the Wizengamot immediately. That is to say, before The Daily Profit got a hold of the story. For while the Minister spent a vast majority of his time these days, getting ahead of these 'outrageous' headlines, the public was quickly catching on to his tricks. Fear was the only thing keeping Fudge's slanderous accusations against Harry Potter and Dumbledore alive, for it seemed true that no one wanted to believe the dark times were upon them all again. _Who would?_ Kingsley found himself murmuring internally amidst the ruckus of the Ministry, _It was easier for them to believe it was all lies from a 'insolent student and a senile, old man' than it was to consider the very idea that it all wasn't blasphemy._

Still, it was with great chagrin that he and his partner had returned back to the Ministry empty-handed, once again. After alerting the others to the possibility of not just one, but multiple werewolf assailants at large, he'd returned to his desk to fill out the proper forms. Werewolf crimes weren't taken lightly after all; especially not with so many members of the Wizengamot on the fence about whether to allow them citizenship or not. These reports would need to be filed with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in order to issue any sort of warrant at a later date.

Tonks had just finished giving her official report to the Minister himself just moments before, and had finally went to go fetch them both something to eat. Tavish and Fawley were over by the maps trying to etch out a clear timeline of the werewolves's trail of bodies since before eight the evening, but to no avail. More footprints appeared on the enlarged map of London by the hour, and with no rhyme nor reason there was little they could do to predict their movements. It was as if these werewolves were multiple steps ahead of them, as if it was a series of _planned attacks_ and not simply for the sick fascination of the carnage that resulted in their actions. There was almost a _control_ to their movements, if such a thing could be possible when a wolf was lost to his impulses.

They had to have been getting about with the help of a witch or wizard, that much was clear. The attacks, themselves had started off long before the moon had rose to it's fullest, but it was their ability to jump from place to place spoke of a powerful entity assisting them. That many jumps would've left evidence of splinching otherwise. But, the question they kept asking themselves, was who would help them to accomplish such a thing? The obvious one Kingsley having already decided to keep to himself, lest the Minister turn on him for planting fear and suspicion where there _needn't be_.

As the night wore on, enough fear began to escalate through the building that the International Confederation would soon reign down upon him for endangering the Magical Statute of Secrecy, Fudge was left with little options. So with the weight of a thousand galleons resting upon his shoulders, he called for the Aurors to set up the network of Anti-Apparition Charms, as a failsafe, surrounding London. The network, acting as a shield to protect those outside of the barrier, while they closed in on the attackers. No one wanted to speak of the fact that they'd just locked thousands of witches and wizards in with them. Those of _all ages_. Nevertheless, at the end of the day Aurors were naught but soldiers that were left to follow orders, nothing more or less. It was frowned upon to pick apart the orders given, though the panicked flutter of the Minister's voice pleaded otherwise on more than one occasion. After all, who was the Minister if naught but a man? Fear was such a human emotion to feel in a time of disaster.

Overall, they'd managed to raise a halfway decent shield, though it had taken hours to achieve. The effort it took to strengthen it properly, drained nearly the entire office. They were all running on empty; downing energy replenishing potions and Pepper Up's like they were pints, at this point, before continuing on with the next task. To have done this all in a timely manner, they would've needed twice the manpower; something of which they just couldn't spare with the attacks still happening. Over a hundred from the Department were still out in the field, locked under the dome; and another hundred from all across the departments were maintaining the shield. Kingsley and Tonks had just been pulled off assignment and ordered in for reports, which was the closest thing he'd had to a break since breakfast nearly a day before.

* * *

Auror Shacklebolt couldn't help the niggling feeling crawling up his spine. That instinct that those in the Department gained, telling them when something was about to go ass over kettle. _Fast_. It wasn't a foreign sensation to him, in fact it was the same foreboding instinct that saved his life many of times throughout his Auror career. One that served to prepare him for the haphazard events that would soon follow, it caused him to stiffen suddenly in response. Coiled and scanning the room with an eye for detail in an effort to spot the threat before it became one; his right hand twitching for his wand. For Kingsley knew that when he suddenly felt such heart pounding adrenaline pulse through his veins, he was surely about to need it.

He understood that the Minister had ran out of options. At this point, cutting off the wolves' exits were their strongest offense and it would protect those outside the Ministry's immediate reach. For, it was both Muggles _and_ Magicals that were being openly attacked. Dozens dead would be better than having hundreds dead come morning after all. Not to mention the danger that _allowing_ a coordinated werewolf attack to carry on under the full moon would mean. If the papers got their hands on the fact that _they knew_ _and did nothing_ , it would be far worse. The wards in St. Mungo's were already packed with potential Lycanthropy patients. That being if those few surviving victims, didn't perish by morning from trauma.

Kingsley couldn't help but to feel a slight skip in his pulse, at the the thought that by doing this they'd be trapping thousands without means to magically escape. This could prove to be the most detrimental courses of action they could enact for the Ministry's cause. The Profit was already acquiescing to the Minister's will over the Potter boy, but this could very well mean mass murder at the hands of The Ministry itself. For with apparition being denied, it certainly wouldn't take long for the Floo Network to be locked up due to the heavy traffic. Muggle and Wizard alike were going to be left defenseless! It seemed though that the Minister hadn't spared but a moment to find fault in his own plan before ordering it unto them. _Was it because the Minister trusted them to eliminate the threat with the least amount of casualties or was that simply wishful thinking?_

 _It was all for naught though_ , Kingsley admitted. For with the clock striking three in the morning, the death toll had climbed higher in one night, than he'd bore witness to during the last Wizarding War. Sitting in his uncomfortable desk chair, with his hands steepled in front of his exhausted face, he knew naught what to do. Upon receiving word from Sirius that Remus had been safely locked away all night, and was in no danger of being responsible for the attacks, that left the many other werewolves that were still at large. The many that were bitten could be behind this; and even if it wasn't but a fraction of the werewolves in the Wizarding World, all would be suspected of involvement in these heinous crimes. He wasn't sure how much Dumbledore's opinions on the matter would be respected, or even _his_ for that matter. But it eased his conscience to know Remus was safely slumbering due to his monthly wolfsbane potion. There would be questions, and with no 'reliable' witness to Remus's whereabouts, things would surely be grim.

With a flick of his wrist, the parchment began dissolving into a small cloud of ash. If there was anything the dark skinned wizard wanted less than Remus being targeted by the Ministry for perpetrating the attacks, it was Sirius's whereabouts being released. He may have been a person of interest in the crimes against the Potter family, but he'd been long absolved in Kingsley's books. In such the world they lived in, sometimes trust in a man couldn't be understood or measured. It either was or wasn't. Kingsley found that he did indeed trust Sirius Black, to protect those he loved; to have his back when the time came. That being only if he, _himself,_ remained true to the cause, that was. That reliable hope was what the Order was built on.

He knew Dumbledore would have fought harder to get the Minister to halt his executive order, but with so few options he feared everything would fall back on him a few more hours come, should he speak out. With so many lives on the line, he could not say for sure he was right. But Merlin help him if he was, and did nothing! There was an old expression that his father had once told him about being in between a Hungarian Horntail and Death himself, and in this moment he didn't know which was worse.

Tonks had still not returned yet when the vibrations started. An alarm blared so piercingly at first, he wasn't sure what he was hearing. More than one trinket fell off his desk as the building shivered and shook. It was his realization of what the deafening screeching meant that had him instinctively pulling his wand from his holster as he bolted from his seat. The sound reminded him eerily of the old pensieves they'd been allowed use of, from the Second World War, in his Auror training. As Aurors from every department had done their part to monitor each side's movements, even at the risk of their life. There was such Magical involvement in the whole affair, he was surprised the Statute remained intact at all! Those brave witches and wizards who'd returned had donated memories meant to help guide the later generations of Aurors; gifted unto those of the Department, who hadn't yet experienced the true depth such a war could have on the mind.

Those same war sirens blared from a silver object in the corner of the room, attached to an old Muggle style record player stood a silver filigree trumpet horn. The commotion from the Aurors around the room went as silent as the coldest of winter nights at the sound that resounded against the walls around them.

Kingsley now felt true fear, shuddering within him was his heart as the emotion gripped it painfully. For after the few seconds of silence, every witch and wizard able to walk, ran. Every wand was fiercely clutched in hand in a grip that was so tight one would think that it was their lifeline, and every heart seemed to cease it's heavy staccato. No matter how ragged the remaining members of the Department were, those who weren't locked into the Anti-Apparition Zone chasing werewolves on their most dangerous night of the month, moved like their very lives depended on it. Kingsley thought it was ironic in a way as he watched them flee for their lives. _For once, they might be right._ He just hoped he'd make it until morning, and hoped this was all just a horrible dream.

For if Azkaban was under attack, there was only _one_ wizard he knew possessed enough brass to even attempt at such a thing.

 _Voldemort_ _._

* * *

As tall as Kingsley's towering height allowed, he still couldn't see Tonks amongst those rushing around within the office. The Floos were flickering down the line, as the staggering amount of Magicals in Kingsley's Department and those neighboring, lended every man or woman they had to spare. As one of the leading Auror's in the field, Kingsley now understood what exactly the werewolf attacks had been, a diversion. Meant to scatter their forces, until it was too late.

Something within Kingsley desperately urged him to warn Dumbledore; but with the crowd growing violent in their haste to push through the line, he quickly began formulating other escape routes. Just as he was about to cast his patronus to send the Leader of the Light his message, witnesses be damned, Tonks appeared at his side. Her shoulder length hair now a shocking icy blue reflecting outwardly upon her body's fright. She looked toward him anxiously, seeking no other's explanation but the one that he provided. For their trust was a tangible one, and in their time together they'd learned to say more with their actions and gestures than words.

" _Azkaban has been compromised."_ Kingsley confirmed to her in his deep voice, though the very words he spoke were underlined with the grave sensation that he currently held. Not wishing to waste any more time, he immediately aimed his wand upward, shifting into that of a noble-looking red-tailed hawk. Flying as fast as he could to the next Floo down the hall. Tonks remained hot on his heels, though she'd yet to successfully change into an animagus form as he had. There was a great many things her partner and most trusted ally had been teaching her in their time together, this was just one of the most recent teachings. However the transition was proving far more difficult than the Metamorphmagus imagined, considering she'd been shifting between guises since she was a newborn.

She could already feel herself getting flustered, wishing she'd given it more practice. For it surely would've come at the opportune time, as she unfortunately had to crawl through some of the tighter groupings on her knees in order to pass. _The blooming idiots,_ _what did the lot of them hope to achieve by simply standing around?_ _Should've sent some stinging hexes their way,_ Tonks smirked to herself at the very thought, though refused to give into the temptation to do so. After all, there were much bigger things to tend to at the moment. Finally, despite the mayhem that engulfed their department at the moment, they'd secluded themselves apart from the crowd. Kingsley having already changed back into his rich indigo robes upon her arrival. He gestured at her with the wave of his hand to go first while he finished sending his message to Dumbledore, for he trusted her to not get into too much trouble in the mere seconds it would take him to follow.

The Floo abruptly flickered to life with the flame held within, and had crackled after Tonks had disappeared from the Ministry. The usually warm blaze engulfing her form to transport her from one place to another, didn't warm her in the slightest. When she reappeared just moments later to her desired destination, what greeted her inside was what she'd later call Hell on Earth. Tonks' surroundings, it seemed, closed in on her as soon as she took one step out of the Floo. Soot rose from her heels, seeming impossibly lighter than the cramped chambers around her. Having been as dark as pitch in color.

When her eyes slowly adjusted Tonks grew aware to the eight Floos whom faced each other in the circular room, one that she easily recognized as the inside one of the prison's largest Trial Chambers. The rusted, olden cage that sat ominously in the bottom-most central part of the room, instantly made her skin crawl. _Merlin knows how many Death Eaters had been packed in such a thing, like Muggle sardines._ Tonks shivered in disgust at not only the very thought that her mother's _rotten_ _sister_ , Bellatrix had been housed in it, due to how _insane_ she was. But also, she found herself shivering from positively bone-chilling wards spiraling off of it. Wards that Tonks knew from general Auror knowledge, that inflicted anguish upon the person inside as it affected their magical core. Leaving them helpless from the moment they were cast within, stripped to naught but a Muggle's abilities for as long as they remained inside. The vindictive, hidden side of Tonks which she was sure came solely from the Black side of her line, found it to be rather poetic that the criminals that despised Muggles so much could be reduced to the very thing that they hated.

The only sight she could make out within the room she stood in was the flickering lightning overhead through the cracks in the mortar, glaring with it's jagged form from the darkened clouds that shrouded just outside these walls. Rain began falling from the skies in a light mist, the droplets that seeped through the sky above slanted her way. It was as if even the weather was trying to warn her off from the danger that lingered within the shadows of Azkaban, but even as a single drop of moisture touched her left cheek Tonks still raised her wand defensively. She wasn't willing to move far from the Floo, lest she lose herself in the abyss that seemed all-encompassing.

Impatiently, she silently began to count down. Furiously attempting to control her heart rate from skyrocketing as she awaited Kingsley's imminent arrival. For even though the darkness shrouded everyone else from _her eyes,_ it didn't necessarily cloak her from theirs. Dread ran down her spine, as her wand arm ached from her stout refusal toward casting a spell to amend the darkness. The danger of lighting a _Lumos_ could mean life or death in a place like this, Mad Eye had told her that on her first encounter with the tricky old blighter.

As a flame emitted from the fireplace across the way, barely making an audible sound within the tense atmosphere, and Tonks witnessed Fawley stepping forward. What seemed to be only seconds later, two other wizards appeared from the Floos next to it; then almost in sync, fireplaces were suddenly aflame with life all around her. A dim light that this action caused momentarily lit the forms of the witches and wizards from the Ministry, whom wearing everything from uptight proper wizarding robes to the more unkempt lot she was used to dealing with. She worried what sort of battle they were walking into, and if any of them were truly ready for the utter chaos that they were about to face.

Then, just as Kingsley had predicted, silence engulfed them as the fire within the Floos sputtered and died off into nothing, leaving naught but shrouding darkness in it's place, Tonks knew immediately what had occurred. The Floo had been jammed, and Tonks reckoned that every fireplace in London was being used as an escape route at this point. The wolves didn't exactly discriminate between bodies and as motivated as they were to keep on the move, no one was safe. Her hair must've went as pale as a ghost, allowing a flash of herself to be seen by the shadow to her right. Who upon closer glance, was wearing heavy robes and a his most favored kufi. _Kingsley,_ she sighed in her mind. _Thank Merlin!_

Everyone else must've felt the same panic seeping into their bones, as she had felt a few moments prior. For it became quite clear that they were now as trapped here, as the others were trapped elsewhere. Whether or not they'd make it off the island, was another matter entirely. For with only these scant few Aurors making it through before the channels were blocked, their odds of survival lessened dramatically. Kingsley ran a few spells toward the surrounding Floos to detect any activity, but it remained dead. Remaining unable to move after all the congestion from the London traffic, they knew without a doubt, _they were alone._

It only proved as Kingsley had feared, that wolves were attacking on the orders of a truly Dark entity. They sought and succeeded in forcing the Minister's hand into closing down the only means of arrival they'd have to the prison. For portkeys could not take one into prison, nor out; for it was the Ministry who had outlawed such things centuries ago. For as surely as Voldemort had known they would come, he'd known just how Fudge would cater to the general public's fear. Mass terror had reigned this night, and the Sun had still yet to rise. Now only nine Aurors stood here on the island, trapped for the Dark to hunt within the shadows that it took homage within.

 _That bastard!_ Tonks couldn't resist mentally shouting in response, fury pulsing through her veins as her lips twisted into a scowl, _That foul, treacherous snake!_ She knew exactly who was behind these attacks, the same scum who thought to kill a mere newborn child. She despised him with every fiber of her being, _what kind of monster sought to kill a defenseless child?_ It mattered naught that full grown wizards couldn't stand against him but the thought that it was a _child_ , whose parents had died bravely trying to shield little Harry's life with their own - made her stomach turn sickeningly. While normally she'd try to keep her abilities more subtle, she could clearly feel her scarlet colored hair standing up on end as a molten gold colored it's tips. Tonks ignored the change of appearance however, which was the outer reflection of the rage that pounded within.

" _Shacklebolt, continue with Tonks toward the North Wing. Abbot, you and Thatch with head to the South. East will be yours Tavish, Hartley, Raintree. Lastly, it's you and me, Fawley. We'll take up the West."_ Warrick Tate, the cantankerous old Scotsman, softly demanded of them in a pompous manner of speaking. He'd been an Auror since Alastar Moody was in training, and while that normally would've earned her respect, he was as foul to be around as the lethifold she and Kingsley had found eating Muggle students at the university. _Oxford, I think it was._ Tonks absentmindedly tried to recall the name as she attempted to withhold the narrowed edge that her eyes threatened to take on as she stared at the man before her. She had always found him to be brute, so alike the others working in the Department who thought she was a bit _too female_ to work beside them. _Like the world needed another one of those misogynistic pricks!_

Tonks herself couldn't say that she'd grieve over him if he showed up dead or dismembered, but it was here on one of the most treacherous places on Earth, every wand on your side counted. _And if a real nasty curse heads his way, who's to say I'd defend him. Or if they'd know who cast it amongst the melee._ Her last thought sending her into a beautifully malicious grin that resembled the very aunt which she despised so openly. Then, as a rustling noise resounded down the hall, Tonks and Kingsley assumed their duelling stance. Neither waiting for Tate's signal to charge, before lighting up the corridor with their heartiest stunners.

* * *

The minutes following the Dark Lord's disappearance had the Death Eaters traversing the rocks with newfound determination; fueled by their very desire to not be on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's wand. He had been, what many of them considered, lenient in their punishment for failing. Sure they were cast into unadulterated anguish for their incompetence, but they were still left _alive_ and that was far more than the dead could claim after the crossed his path. Their Lord had given his orders before leaving them to complete the task at hand, for each of them knew that failure wasn't an option. In fact, it never was. But they each had knowledge of just who was being held in the East Wing of the prison; those whose crimes were so severe that they merely awaited the dementor's kiss by order of the Wizengamot.

Bella swung her arms frantically at her sides, pushing her body into a steady lope. The loose black robes she'd worn were the same ones she'd been tried and sentenced in, all those years ago; thus was a tattered mess that hung from her frame horribly. She was disappointed her Lord had seen her in such a state of disrepair, but Bellatrix thought that she looked in a right better shape than Jugson back there with his intestines painting such a lovely scenic view. _He'll be quite a pleasing new addition to the real estate scene here. A nice prison that is very secluded, with many rooms available, intestines sprawling the grounds, all the while reflected by a peaceful oceanic backdrop. Just what every family needs!_ A wayward grin twisted unto her lips at the thought, barely containing the cackle that threatened to leave her lips as she humorously played with the idea of what the brochures would look like and the horror that the public would respond with it. _That would be a sight to behold indeed._

She certainly wouldn't act cut up about the lazy swine's untimely demise, for Bellatrix firmly believed that Jugson was now as dead as Albus Dumbledore would soon find himself to be. _And good riddance with the rate at which I could always hear him mouth-breathing from down the hall! Did they teach the young knuckle draggers anything these days in etiquette? Oh well,_ she thought with a shrug of her shoulders with an dismissing air, _all that perverse staring at her lovely little neighbor, was going to get him hurt anyways!_

The sickening part of it all was that Bellatrix clearly remembered that they _all_ had done such a thing, gawking dumbfoundedly at her beauty; _leering_ at her. _Now, little Spectre was an anomaly_ , she thought. She was nearly the exact opposite of Bellatrix in looks, all that pale hair and those eyes. Bella couldn't deny that despite their differences, there was a certain _draw_ she felt toward the girl even though she couldn't explain it. It didn't change the fact that within her body there was a pull that possessed her _to come closer, to listen and to protect_. But clearly, if her Lord was indeed assisting the girl, then he found no fault in her claim of blood relation toward him. That made her pale visage seem more regal than she'd thought to admit.

If she indeed _was_ his family, then she was also one of the last descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin and by extension _Morgana herself_! _But could she be the Dark Lady to their Lord?_ It was no secret among the prisoners in her wing, that the pale dove had been there for _some time_. Though she appeared no older than Cissy's boy, Draco might look after all these years. A woman, barely. Only, she was no _mere woman_. Her Lord didn't think so and so she wouldn't either. Especially given the way his magic had exploded from his body after what the young woman had shown him. A past that was anything but pleasant, it seemed.

Something which she would need to tread carefully, or risk angering her Lord. Particularly when it involve his past. Something which Bellatrix had learned could be a _very dangerous_ thing to question, from imbeciles too stupid to hold their tongues. _Oh, how I adore the shade of crimson that was blood._

The Pale One's carefully sculpted form certainly would increase the witchly wiles on their side, once her Lord acquired her. It was something which Bellatrix couldn't decide just how she'd allow herself to feel about it, given her adoration to the man she served, but she had a feeling that her last encounter wasn't the last she would see of the little dove. Especially having seen his familiar dark robes flashing inside her once neighbor's cell, only seconds after his departure. _More to her than meets the eye, I think!_

Even after hearing the whispered nonsense, as she had earlier, Bellatrix sensed that there was quite a deal _more_ underneath the younger woman's flesh. She was as pale and as fair as the driven snow; quite the eye catcher. Through underneath the fair appearance that the girl possessed, Bellatrix would be lying if she didn't admit to feeling the throbbing power emanating from her cell over the years. _Quite the conundrum,_ she thought slyly as she danced elegantly through the halls as if the structure around her wasn't collapsing brick by brick. The girl's aura read more Dark than anything, something that the Death Eater immensely approved of. After all, Bellatrix prided herself on her acute sense of the Magical forces. Her Master had taught her well, and she knew there was something _familiar_ about the girl's aura. She just couldn't put a name to it however, but Bellatrix figured that it was because of this that drew her toward the girl in the first place.

By the time the lot of them had reached the East-facing wall, she was trembling with excitement. Her slender fingers were dancing with sparks concealed within, her veins surged with magical potential that desperately urged her to be put to use and her head clouded with mania. Shouldering her way through the crowd of dimwitted cretins she was shrouded by, Bellatrix placed both hands firmly against the black stone wall that was now in front of her. She eagerly breathed in through her nose, inflating her lungs with a deep pull of her magic, as she built up the strongest bundle of Dark magical energy she could hold within, before exhaling through her mouth. It was with this releasing breath that the witch had cast it from her body with explosive force. Her fingers felt like they were on fire from the excessive usage, but her veins lit up with magical potential. Charging her with a sense of renewed vigor now that she was able to use magic once again.

The cries of her fellow Death Eaters rose into the night air quite beautifully, and after a moment she waved them onward with a dramatic gesture of her arm. They trudged down the hall with a growing roar, splitting up into multiple groups. Each knowing exactly who to release, after their Lord's lieutenant pointed toward the cells upon instinct. Bellatrix needed only to seek out the _taste_ of the prisoners' magic, to define them as a betrayer or a worthy candidate. The lackeys at her back worked cohesively in identifying the worthy before they joined forces.

Working together to build up enough of their power to break through the proper cells. Azkaban's wards were far more dense here than any had encountered before, complicated in such a way that one would compare it to running within a maze. One couldn't just burst through but had to solve the puzzle, had to make quickened rational decisions in which would lead them to success. Which was no trouble for her, Bellatrix always loved puzzles and her Slytherin qualities earned her the spot within her house many years ago at the age of eleven. Her mind wasn't quite like those around her then and it certainly hadn't changed over the years. It wriggled and squirmed, to find it's way in.

Those who were overlooked were clearly marked 'unworthy' by the Dark Lord, weaklings who would break under questioning. Those like Igor Karkaroff, who though still roamed free, _would burn for what he did to Barty._ Crouch was the second most devoted fighter the Dark had on their side, and she fondly remembered how hard she worked to help him build up his battle style. He was a beautifully wild dueller. It had always invigorated her, when her Lord wasn't there to train her. _Not like Rodolphus ever had,_ Bellatrix struggled to hold a scoff at the very thought of how the idiot that had claimed her as his wife, but couldn't fulfill what she needed him to _._ She needed someone to duel her in their spare time and watch her back when they were on raids, for she would do the same for them. _Someone to trust._ Someone that invigorated her and _who challenged her_ in every manner. _Someone who understood what she needed._

She hissed in an annoyed breath. _If a 'stray' curse were to hit Rodolphus square in the nose and resulted in him falling over dead, I might finally be free of his troublesome comments. Let him scold me from the grave, when all of his nightly escapades come to light,_ she thought maliciously. _If father only hadn't bound me against harming the fool, he would've been dead long before I found out about the younglings. The filth._

Like herself, Barty's tastes laid outside the realm of what was quite ' _proper_ ' too. But their desires had never strayed from each other, in the years since he had first been brought to their Lord. Purebloods didn't usually speak of their deviant behavior _,_ but she found herself quite pleased with the match. They didn't involve others in their affairs and each remained loyal to the other, neither willing to lose whatever it was that they had. He allowed her freedoms that most women were too demure to ask for, and it certainly suited her was one of a kind, after all and he didn't try to staunch her passions, any more than she would his _._

Besides, Rodolphus had always known she was the best hope he'd possessed, to not ever have to father children. Something neither had ever wanted for themselves. _Little dependents, the horror!_ She shook her head in disgust, her wild curls moving with the motion as her expression began to twist at the thought.

But her reasons grew exponentially more profound, the more she understood of his perverse nature. Bellatrix Lestrange was many things, but she had a burning hatred of the man she'd called her husband. Whether it was the way he demeaned her in public, or the way he'd relied so heavily on her forced Vow to protect him from any ill will on her behalf. _The spineless excuse of a wizard!_ If her father hadn't made sure to issue a clause against her so much as plotting his death with another, she would've simply asked Barty to help. He was the only one she trusted to not abuse this knowledge. Something which she had been determined _for years_ to handle without asking for anyone's assistance, as was her prideful nature. It appalled her to realize the shame she felt over being so useless. _Oh what glorious pain he'll feel at my sweetest behest, one day. Azkaban didn't change a man, it made him worse_ _._

Her reveries were broken off by humming sound coming from behind the walls, a melodious tune that instantly caught her attention. Hearing such an jovial tune within the walls of this prison, brought an almost carefree grin to her lips where just moments before she had been facilitating over her husband's imminent demise. The cells in the East Wing were lined on all four sides by a thick opaque wall, one meant to confine its occupant into a person's most punishing prison of all - one's mind. Even with the dementors gone, the hall was as foreboding as a funeral, yet still the maddening tune whistled out from the cell at the end of the hall.

Following the sweet melody, Bellatrix drew closer with a curious manner; her eyes alighting in anticipation. Fingers tingling and with her mind buzzing with ideas as to who it could be, though Bellatrix's heart already knew what her eyes had not yet seen. Her magic whirled around her frame, as she chased it around her body with a demented sort of glee. Visibly spinning with it on the spot, as it travelled around her like a mighty serpent, Bellatrix dared to hope that Aurors would come for them. Even for the sole prospect for her amusement than anything else. Her magic slithered dauntingly underneath her flesh, until she commanded it forward once more, the darkness within her veins opened its great maw and spewed a flame hotter than any dragon's breath toward the formidable wards. Burning them to naught but ashes, as she sent a quake through the heavily fortified wall. Her eyes following the crack all the way to the ceiling, wherein the darkness sealing it off from the world would have warned a weaker soul away. Finally, slamming her fist down to the battered stone floor in utter devastation, a shock wave barreled through the seam in the wall before her.

The force of her magic, raining bricks and mortar down in her wake; forcing her to shuffle back from harm before standing tall and admiring her work. Lightning flashed outside, rumbling and crackling from the sky above, and shining just enough like to see the dark figure sitting on the cot that was positioned to the side of the small room with their back at the wall. She stood proudly before the shadowed figure inside that stepped his feet to the rhythm that left his lips so jauntily. It wasn't until yet another flash of lightning illuminated the darkness for a mere moment, that Bellatrix's eyes zoned in on the sly lips curved around his merry tune as he tilted his head mischievously in her direction. Wetting his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue, the man gave her a full boyish grin that had become all too familiar to her. One filled with an undeniable sense of ambition.

Bellatrix grinned and tittered effervescently, as though she'd drank a full pint of giggle water just a moment before. Her maniacal laughter echoing through the hall with a manic glee as she clapped her hands in applause. The sound of such a wonderous tune, was the exact opposite of the mayhem that was about to be unleashed within Azkaban. The man before her was like no other, and she respected one with that kind of madness. _Two of a kind, he and I._ Bellatrix smirked at the thought before tilting her head to the side in a teasing manner, her eyes glinting with the kind of humor that no one claiming sanity would understand. She parted her lips to speak, her voice adopting the baby talk that came so easily to her though this time the intent was far from mocking.

Bellatrix bowed theatrically, kicking one leg out behind the other as she threw her hands up into the air. Then landing lithely back on her tippy toes, she swung her hand around in offering. One hand landing on her hip sassily, as only the youngest of the Black sisters could manage to accomplish without looking too dour. Her eyes danced as she challenged him to join her. To once more, fight at her side, the way only a well suited dueling partner could.

" _I wonder, will Barty come out to play_ _?"_

* * *

When the Dark Lord reentered Vera's cell after directing his Death Eaters unto their tasks, her body had nearly finished regenerating itself. Gone was the broken doll-like image that Vera had once embodied and in it's place rested a sleeping, beautiful woman. Her fragile looking wrists were now unmarred by the years of torment that she had been subjected to, now that she was free the goblin-made manacles and all the anguish that such objects had to have brought her. To her, he imagined those first few moments back into the world, would feel weightless. For the relief she had to have been brought from their disappearance would be palpable in the air between them. _Magical suppressors,_ Voldemort shuddered from the disgusting idea to place such base creations on the skin of what was _his._ His possessive afflictions of her were becoming more natural the more he dwelled upon it. Or rather, the more that he _acknowledged_ it, the more that he feltit to be true.

The minutes appeared to have passed longer than he thought them to, for when Voldemort looked at her somehow time seemed to stand still. She had not even awoken from the spoken curse and yet it seemed that her magical signature came rolling over him unbidden, as he panned through different scenarios on how he would proceed with her. He didn't even realize he was doing it, at first, responding to her in a way that was so uncharacteristic of him but Vera invoked such things within him. It was daunting that he knew naught of her but only _one day_ in their shared lifespans, yet here he was reaching out to stroke his own aura against her own in feather light caresses. The softest stroke of magical precision responding to him in return.

When he had entered the room, she had instinctively searched for him. All the while he struggled to remain impassive, while his magic purred in contentment at her healing form's proximity. As their contact continued Voldemort began to feel his shoulders loosen into a more relaxed posture, his brow easing from the tension he knew not was there, and his mind clear. It was only moments after the third gliding sweep of her magical aura that was a dark violet in color, that he took notice of the way that her lashes fluttered with movement for the first time. Drawing him near at the movement, he laid his palms flat on the stone basin where she rested head cocking in fascination. Eager to see every last bit of magical splendor accompanying her reanimation, from the golden light encasing around her limbs before seeping into her heart to give it beat and then finally reflecting through her eyes. He wanted to witness the light that breathed life back into her before it all evaporated to make way for the silver that he knew her eyes to be, just like he had witnessed within her mind.

Her chest during these final moments did not rise and fall, though he was not disturbed by her unnatural stillness. For he could see a faint glow of golden light traversing underneath her skin, repairing the damage so that she may arise once again. The thin fabric of her silken dress shone much in the same manner her skin did, as translucent as it was, through not as clean as he would have liked. Grime from being confined here as long as she had was clearly spotted one place or another on the fabric. A simple Scourgify cleaned her person of all the blood and grime that had collected upon her, the spell leaving his lips before he even knew that he had lifted his wand. Golden currents surged within her veins to repair every magical piece to the puzzle that the Dark Lord could not even bring himself to destroy, no matter what his brutally conniving mind told him. He wished to bind her in some way to him, to hold her to his person and claim Vera as his own in a physical manner. A way in which others would see his hold on her and tremble for fear of his wrath, for within Voldemort his beast demanded that he claim her as his Queen.

 _A Mark?_ He silently questioned as his crimson gaze trailed over her form, assessing what would be the perfect spot for something so important as this. A humming sound vibrated within his throat in appreciation in regard to the thought of marking her, before he began working on a new design within his mind. One that spoke not only of claiming but retribution for the one who touched what did not belong to them. Something not so mundane as the Dark Mark had become, for her skin was not just _any_ blank canvas. She belonged to him in ways the others did not; his very magic was mirrored beneath her skin. He could see the statement reveal itself within her every feature now that he _knew_. The long proud planes of her face, echoing that of a once too familiar bone structure. _His very own._ High forehead, sharp cheekbones, even the much smaller nose adorning her face looked familiar.

Vera was his match in many of ways. _His mate_ , as the caged beast within him claimed her to be. She certainly pulled from him a primal urge to defend and protect; to hold and to cherish such like he had never done to one before her. None before her had been worthy for the title Queen, a _Lady_ to his _Lordship_. If they had been just creatures in the wild, he would be the strongest of beasts. He would be the most ferocious of his kind, capable of destroying worlds. In fact, he already found himself violently impassioned to do just that, so that she could bathe in the spilled blood of her enemies. Then he wondered just how much sweeter their blood would taste, after he chased it across her skin.

* * *

Hello everyone, I know this chapter turned out a little longer than I anticipated, but here we are. WarriorHime53 & I have been working fastidiously to clean up this lengthy introduction of so many great characters. Please don't hesitate to let us know how you are liking our renditions of them. As to any disgruntling feelings concerning the coordinated werewolf attack or Rodolphus's nightly activities, have no fear. I've got good things cooked up for them, so not to worry! I could not have finished this big guy without my girl, WarriorHime53. There aren't enough scoops of love in the world to send to her, but I shall try! So please check her work out! She has just about a story for everyone over on her page, so what are you waiting for!

As always, I love you all for all your reviews & I hope you'll continue. I respond to each & every one of you, because you bring me such joy. Every one makes me that much more motivated to keep pushing & make it better. FOR YOU. I can't give you enough thanks, so please, hit that 'review' button. Every word counts & I've written you over 15k of them!


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